


The Art of Losing Touch

by indecentpause



Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Bipolar Disorder, Coming of Age, Forced Medication, Gay Characters, Gen, Hallucinations, Hopeful Ending, POV First Person, Pre-Relationship, Psychiatric medication, Self-Harm, Setting - Scotland, Sheraton Academy (original work) EU, psychiatric hospital, psychiatrists, young adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-11 11:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15314553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecentpause/pseuds/indecentpause
Summary: When Cal wakes up in a psychiatric ward after a suicide attempt, his life appears to he over in every way but literally. His youngest brother hates him now, and everyone else in his family keeps him at emotional arms' length, afraid he'll explode.After he's finally released, he has to work on putting his life back together, but with the rumors at school and the cruelty of new and numbered bullies, his parents pull him out and sign him up for internet classes.At first his medication makes it impossible to function, but as his doctor adjusts them, things start to seem like they'll get better.Then Cal meets Craig, and everything goes upside down. But this time, in the best possible way.





	1. Chapter 1

_Glasgow, Scotland._

“Why did you want to kill yourself, Calum?”

I flinched at Dr. Mackenzie’s voice—detached, professional, clinical. I didn’t look up from the bandages on my wrists.

“Don’t call me that,” I whispered. “I don’t like being called by my full name.”

“What would you prefer me to call you?” she asked.

“Cal’s fine.”

“All right, Cal. Now, will you tell me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Will you tell me why you tried to tear your stitches out, then?”

Her voice was still professionally detached. I still didn’t look up, picking at a loose thread on the dingy, red-brown bandage on my left wrist.

“It was an accident,” I finally whispered. I hadn’t spoken at a normal volume in almost two weeks, since Brendan found me bleeding in my bedroom.

“You accidentally tore the stitches in your wrist out?”

I nodded, closing my eyes. “I know you don’t believe me,” I said.

“Cal.”

I winced; then, finally, I did look up, letting my hair fall in front of my face to block my eyes.

She sighed. “Cal, do you want to be here?”

“No.” My voice caught on the single, whispered word. I closed my eyes and looked back down, trying to force my tears back. Boys don’t cry. That was what everyone always said, boys don’t cry. “No. I want to go home. I hate it here. It’s making me worse.”

“That’s because you’re not trying,” she said. “If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you get better, and until you get better, you’re going to stay here.”

My shoulders started shaking and I bit down hard on my lip, trying to keep from crying. _I’m never going to get better. I’m always going to be like this. I’m always going to be a stupid, worthless, crazy kid no one loves._

“Think about what I said, Cal. We’ll talk this the same time tomorrow.”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Mackenzie.” 

* * *

 

“What did she say this time?”

Robert was hanging upside down from the couch again, his head resting on the floor on top of his arms. He was chewing on a chunk of his black hair, kicking his feet in the air.

“I’m never going to get out of here,” I whispered, not looking up from my sketchbook.

“That’s rubbish,” he said, somersaulting off the couch to sit crosslegged on the floor. “You’re no mad like the rest of us. Ya just wanted tae kill ya’self. Everybody does—the only difference is that ya actually tried, so they call ya crazy. Ya’ll get out of here just fine.” He crawled over to my chair, sitting on his knees and peering at my wrists. I turned my arms down.

“Did ya try again? Your bandages are all mucky.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”

“This time or the first one?” Robert asked, leaning closer.

“This time.” I inched a little farther away, pressing myself against the armrest on the far side of the chair. Robert followed me, taking my hand and pulling my arm closer.

“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked. The chair toppled as I jerked away and I landed hard on my leg. Robert fell backwards, staring at me with wide, brown eyes, just like all of the other kids in the ward and like Brendan did almost two weeks ago. I buried my face in my hands and my heart slammed against my ribcage, trying to pound out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe and I didn’t want to breathe and finally, after wanting to since the night I tried to kill myself, I dissolved into sobs, my shoulders shaking and hot, wet tears sliding down my face. I pushed the chair off my leg and curled up into a ball, right there on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to curl into myself so small I would disappear forever.

“Cal?” Robert whispered, the quietest I’d heard his voice since he was admitted three days before. “Cal, I’m sorry, I didnae mean tae make ya cry, I didnae mean tae hurt ya …”

I stiffened when I felt his hand on my arm and bit down on my lip. And when he wrapped his arms around me and rested his head against my shoulder, I started crying harder, because it was the first time anyone had shown they cared since the day I arrived.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you here?”

We were in the cafeteria eating lunch. Robert was cutting up his food and moving it around his plate to make it look like he’d eaten some of it. I hadn’t seen him eat since he first came in.

“Same as you,” Robert said, pushing his mash around his plate. “Only difference is that ya actually followed through with it.”

I paused, glancing down at my half-eaten lunch. “What do you mean?”

“I told my ‘rents I was gang tae kill myself and I stopped sleeping and eating. Anytime they made me eat, I went and threw it up right after.”

I didn’t look up from my plate. “When?” I asked.

“That was about three weeks ago. Havenae eaten or slept since then.”

I pushed what was left of my vegetables around my plate a bit before I put down my fork. “For three weeks?” I asked. “What about the pills they give you?”

He didn’t answer right away. I looked up to see him glancing around the cafeteria. His eyes locked on the two techs talking in the corner. After a moment, he looked back at me and whispered, “I hide them under my tongue and spit them in the toilet when I go back tae my room. I have ADHD, or so says the doctor, so I’ve always got a lot of energy and it makes no sleeping easy, ya ken?”

“If I go any longer than two days without sleeping, I start hallucinating,” I whispered.

“What?” Robert leaned over the table, peering up at me and cocking his head to the side. “I cannae hear ya, Cal. Ya always talk too quiet. What did ya say?”

“Nothing,” I murmured. “It’s not important.”

He stared at me for a few very, very long moments. “Fine,” he finally said, leaning back into his chair. “D’ya want my brownie? I ken ya like chocolate and I’m no gang tae eat it.”

* * *

 

There were always too many people in the day room. The lads always came and went, either getting stable and going home or getting sent to another ward because the techs couldn’t handle them here. Right now there were fifteen of us, including me, plus the three techs who came in and out to make sure we hadn’t killed each other or ourselves yet.

The TV, locked in a cage hanging from the ceiling, was playing cartoons—right now it was one about three sisters with superpowers—and a few boys were watching. One of them was yelling things at the characters and another was half asleep. Robert was playing a board game with another kid named Tommy, though no one called him Tommy, everyone called him Twitch because he had a nervous tic in his left hand. The techs yelled at the boys for the nickname at first, but he’d told everyone to call him Twitch—he was named after his father, who he hated. He never told us why.

I sat curled up in a chair, watching them play, watching Robert squirm in his chair because he’d been in one place for too long, watching Tommy’s nervous hand twitching. I tapped the pencil—dull, too dull for anything but thick, messy lines—against the paper I had pressed against a book, glancing between the two before laying down a few basic lines. I’d half finished drawing Robert when he jumped from his chair and ran toward me. I pulled out a clean sheet of paper from underneath my drawing to cover it and quickly sketched out a cat.

Robert gently tugged my book down to look at my paper, tilting his head to the side before walking around behind me to look over my shoulder.

“D’ya ever draw people?” he asked, reaching around me to poke at the paper. His chin was nearly resting on my shoulder and his messy hair was pushed up against my cheek. It was damp and ratty. He’d been chewing on it again.

“Not usually,” I lied. “I like animals better.”

“Me too,” Robert said, leaning down a little farther. “I used tae have a cat.”

“Used to?”

“She died,” he said simply.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He was quiet for a few moments.

“You should try tae draw people,” he said. “I think ya’d be good at it.”

“Okay,” I murmured.

“Next time ya want tae draw a picture, you should draw me,” he said. “I want tae see what ya’d make me look like.”

* * *

 

I looked down at the little cup of pills in the nurse’s hand before glancing back up at her. One was oval and pink, one was a white tablet, and one was half of a little yellow bar.

“I don’t like those pills,” I whispered. “I don’t like the way they make me feel. They make my head all fuzzy and I can’t think, and I always feel sick in the morning.”

“Take them and talk to your doctor in the morning,” the nurse said.

I looked back at the pills again, then hesitantly took them in my hand, but didn’t put them in my mouth.

“Cal,” she said sternly. “Take your pills. They’re good for you. They’ll help you sleep.”

I looked back up at her. “But what are they?” I asked.

“It’s your medicine, Cal. It’ll help you feel better. Stop arguing and take it.”

I looked down at the pills again. I closed my eyes, popped all three in my mouth, and swallowed.

“Good,” the nurse said. “Now go to bed and get some sleep.”

I nodded.

When I got back to my room, I spit the half-dissolved pills in the toilet, wincing at the bitter taste they’d left on my tongue.

* * *

 

I was in the psychiatrist’s office again, staring at the framed certificate on the wall. I didn’t want to look her in the eye, afraid that, if I did, she’d know I didn’t take my pills the night before.

“Cal,” she said. I looked down.

“I don’t want to take my medicine anymore,” I murmured.

“Why not? Do you think it’s not helping?”

“I don’t like the way it makes me feel.” I started picking at the bandage on my left wrist again. The nurse had changed both this morning, so now they were new and a bright, ugly, sterile white. “It makes me too tired and I always feel sick in the morning.”

“That’s why you take them at night,” she said. “To help you sleep.”

“But—”

“And the nausea is normal. That happens with the Risperidone in people your age.”

I was quiet for a few moments. My eyes dropped from the bandage to my feet. I was wearing blue and green socks because shoes with laces weren’t allowed, and neither was going barefoot. “Is there anything else I can try?” I asked.

“Not for your hallucinations,” she said. “We can try something else for your depression. The techs have noticed that you’ve been crying more often, so we’re going to try something new.” She scribbled something down in her notes, then looked back up at me and said softly, “I want you to know that this new medicine might make you feel more suicidal, so please, Cal, I want you to keep in touch with me and the nurse. And if you ever need to talk, go to one of the techs. That’s why we’re here, to help you get better so you can go home and be happy again.”

“Why would a medicine that’s supposed to make me less depressed make me suicidal?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t know if I wanted to take something that would make me want to kill myself again. It had been so scary and it hurt so much and I never wanted that to happen again.

“No one really knows,” she said. “There haven’t been very many studies about psychiatric disorders and treatment in people your age. That’s one of the reasons we’re working with your medicine here, so you always have someone to watch you and be with you in case something happens.”

I didn’t answer right away, thinking about what she had said the day before: _That’s because you’re not trying. If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you get better, and until you get better, you’re going to stay here_

After a few moments of silence, I nodded. “All right,” I said. “If you think it’ll help, I’ll try it.”

For the first time since we met, she smiled at me. I smiled back.

* * *

 

Cartoons were on the TV again. This one was about a dog who knew karate.

The lads were huddled around, but most weren’t paying attention. Robert was squirming around and playing with a loose string on his pants and chewing on his hair again. He kept glancing over at me.

When a commercial came on, he crawled from his spot in front of the group to me in the back, not paying attention when he bumped into anyone and growling when Twitch told him to be more careful.

“Hey Cal,” he said, curling up next to me and resting his head on my knee, looking up through his messy, ratty hair. “Ya’re no happy. What’s wrong?”

“I’m bored,” I murmured. “I hate TV. I hate cartoons. I would rather be reading or drawing or even sleeping.”

Robert was quiet for a moment, then suddenly he pulled away from me and scampered over to one of the bookshelves in the corner. I half watched him from the corner of my eyes as he went through the books and magazines, dropping some in a messy pile on the floor on his right, carefully stacking others on his left.

A few minutes later, he came back over, a few books and magazines in his hands.

“These are the only ones I could find that werenae really old or stupid,” he said. “They’re kid’s books, mostly, but they have good pictures and I ken ya like pictures.”

I blinked, surprised, looking from the books in his hands up to his face, unsure of what to say. After a moment, he dropped them in my lap, curling up next to me and resting his head on my knee again.

“Would ya read one tae me?” he whispered. “No one’s ever read me a book before. I’ve heard it’s really nice.”

A very small smile spread over my lips and I nodded. He smiled brightly, turning his body and looking up straight in my eyes.

* * *

 

Robert was talking to his doctor, so I was alone. I sat curled up in a corner, holding my stuffed dog to my chest, watching Twitch play checkers again, this time with a lad named Alex. I looked down at my dog—Twilight, because he was black—whispering, “I want to go home. I’m so tired of this place. I miss Mam and Dad and I want to go back to school like a normal teenager, instead of reading out of old magazines and books.”

Twilight didn’t respond like he used to. Before, he would have told me that it was okay and that he was my friend, but this time, he was silent. It must have been because of the medicine.

I wrapped my fingers in the red bow around his neck, hugging him close and burying my nose in the top of his head. Tears pricked at my eyes and I closed them, taking in a deep breath and holding it for a few moments before I let it out again. My hands started shaking, so I hugged Twilight tighter, biting down on his ear to muffle myself so no one could hear me cry.

* * *

 

“Cal?

I peered out from under my blanket, just barely poking my head out into the room. My eyes widened when I saw who was behind the tech.

“Mam? Dad?”

Mam smiled. “We came to see you, Cal. We miss you and wanted to see how you’re doing.”

I pulled the blanket around myself just a little tighter, lowering my eyes, afraid of the disgust and disappointment I knew I’d see in theirs. I only looked up again when Mam sat down on the side of my bed, gently running her fingers through my hair.

“How _are_ you doing, hen?” she asked. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. Dad pulled the chair from the corner of the room to sit in front of me. “I’m always just so sad and I don’t know why,” I said.

“We talked to your doctor,” Dad said. “Has she told you what they think is wrong?”

I shook my head. “I’m taking medicine but I’m not really sure what it is. It’s supposed to make me feel better but it just makes me tired and it makes my stomach hurt.”

“She told us you have depression and schizophrenia,” he said. “Do you know what that is?”

I shook my head again.

“The depression is the reason you’re so sad all the time,” Mam said. “And schizophrenia means you hear and see things that aren’t really there. It doesn’t happen a lot to people your age. That’s why you had to come here, because the doctors can help you better than your Dad and I can. We miss you so much, Cal, and we love you, but that’s why we brought you here, because we want you to get better and be happy again.”

Mam was still running her fingers through my hair. I half sat up, turning and curling up against her, burying my face in her shirt. She wrapped her arms around me and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“I want to come home,” I whispered. My voice caught slightly on the last word. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I’m so sorry. Please let me come home... ”

“Cal, hen, it’s all right,” Mam murmured, gently rocking me in her arms. “We know. We want you to come home, too, but you can’t leave here until you’re doing better.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again. My voice caught in my throat, sharp and painful. Tears were starting in my eyes but I fought them back. I didn’t want Dad to see me cry. I didn’t want him to be even more disappointed in me.

“Sh,” Mam whispered. “Don’t apologize, Cal. We know. All that matters right now is that you get better. We love you and that’s never going to change.”

 _No, they don’t,_ came a whisper. My hands tightened in Mam’s shirt and I squeezed my eyes closed. _They hate you. She’s lying. They’re going to abandon you here and you’re going to stay here until you die. You should just kill yourself._

I shook my head, biting down on my lip, clinging to Mam as tightly as I could.

“Cal? Cal, what’s wrong?”

“Make them go away,” I whimpered. “I just want them to leave me alone.”

“Who, Cal?” Mam asked.

“The voices.”

“Cal,” Dad snapped. “They’re not real. They’re just in your head. Just ignore them and they’ll go away.”

I shook my head again, crawling into Mam’s lap and curling up in her arms.

I winced when a knock came on the door and Mam hugged me a little tighter.

“Mr. and Mrs. Owen?”

It was one of the techs, Berke.

I grabbed Mam tighter still.

“It’s time for Cal’s lunch. We’re going to have to ask you to leave. If you want to come back, visiting hours start again at 4:00.”

“Please don’t leave,” I whispered shakily. “Please don’t leave.”

“Cal, we have to,” Mam said. “We’ll come back to visit. I promise.”

I scrunched my eyes closed and bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep from crying, but tears started pushing down my face anyway.

“Cal? Cal, love, don’t cry, we’ll come back. Please don’t cry, hen—”

“I’m sorry,” I sniffled.

“Cal,” Dad said sternly. I flinched.

“Connor,” Mam said. “Don’t talk to him like that."

"Cal," Berke said gently. "It's time for your parents to go. You have to come eat lunch with everyone."

"You promise you'll come back?" I whispered.

"Of course, Cal," Mam said. "I promise."

"When?"

"As soon as we can, Cal. As soon as we can."

I turned a bit in Mam's arms to look at Dad. My hands curled tighter in her shirt when I saw the disappointment in his eyes. I lowered my head.

* * *

 

I couldn't sleep.

I'd spit out my medicine two hours before and I was still wide awake, more awake than I had been in days. My hands were shaking and my mind was racing and there was a stain on the wall so I took a towel from the bathroom and got it wet and I'd been scrubbing at it for thirty minutes but I couldn't get it off and it wouldn't come off so I started scrubbing harder and I didn't really know why it was so important to get the stain off the wall because I'd never noticed it before but I needed to do _something_ and cleaning the wall was the only thing to do this late because I wasn't allowed in the day room and everyone else was sleeping except I knew Robert wasn't sleeping because he never slept but we weren't allowed in each other's rooms and I didn't want to get him in trouble so I was cleaning the wall and finally the stain started coming off but that was because the _paint_ was coming off and it started turning an ugly grey but that was better than the white, the white like the hospital ceiling and the hospital sheets and the bandages on my wrists even though they were starting to go a little grey too but anything was better than white, I hated white I hated it it was too clean and sterile and so ugly and even though grey was ratty and dead and so ugly it was still better than being surrounded by white --

Something slammed against the door behind me and I jumped and whirled around, hugging the towel to my chest and it was getting my shirt wet but there was nobody at the door and I didn't see anyone in the hallway and "Hello?" I said but no one answered so I crawled to the door and peeked out and then it was _behind_ me and I could feel it _breathing_ on my _neck_ and I spun around again but there was still nothing there and then it was inside my _head_ hissing and growling and screaming _Kill them, kill all of them, they all need to die and you're the only one who can do it!_

"No!" I screamed, running back to my bed and tearing the blankets off and curling up in the corner and I covered my ears but they just got _louder_ and _louder_ and I realized that as long as I had ears I'd be able to hear them so I'd have to get rid of them so I started scratching and it hurt, it _hurt_ so much a stinging sharp horrible pain but it was better than the screams and the growls and I had to get them out make them go away so I started scratching harder and there was so much screaming and screaming and I wasn't sure if it was me or what was in my head but my ears had to come off if I ever wanted it to go away but it wasn't _working_ but I wouldn't be able to hear them if I wasn't alive and the stitches were still in my wrists so I tore the bandages off with my teeth and bit and scratched at them and it stung and burned and was so so wet and red but it didn't matter because if I did it right I'd never have to hear them again and _Do it, Cal,_ they hissed _no one wants you alive, everyone would be so much happier if you were dead_ and "Go away!" I screamed. "Shut up shut up shut _up_!"

Suddenly there was a splitting pain in my head and I realized that I'd slammed it back against the wall and then there were hands on my face and my shoulders and my eyes flew open but it was dark and all I could see were shadows shadows that wanted to kill me and wanted me to kill myself and then there was a sharp twinge in my shoulder and one of them grabbed my hands and slowly things started getting darker and quieter and fuzzier even though the voices were still so so _loud_ and my head hurt and my arms hurt and my face hurt but then that started fading, too, slowly getting darker and quieter until there was


	2. Chapter 2

I couldn’t move. My mind was like bumblebees stuck in a pot of treacle—there was something there but I couldn’t tell what it was. I couldn’t move my hands. It was almost too much work to blink.

Robert was sitting next to me. I thought I could hear his voice, but it was hard to tell through the cottony buzzing. It was too hard to turn to see—my whole body was like a big lead weight.

A noise. Then Robert was suddenly in front of me. His mouth was moving and there was sound, but I couldn’t make out the words. Even his face was blurry. I hardly felt it when he touched my chin—it was just pressure. He waved his hand in front of my face—I wanted to push it away, I could see that he was right in front of me and it was annoying, but I couldn’t make my hands move. He turned away, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his face, saying something to someone else. A muffled reply, then Robert was yelling, his mouth opening wide, his eyes narrowing, pointing, accusing. Suddenly his eyes went wide and his mouth snapped closed, pulling back, his shoulders curling in toward his chest. He looked back at me again and pulled his sleeve down over his hand, rubbing at my chin. Why did he keep touching my face? I tried to ask him, but all that came out was an incoherent mumble without words. His mouth was moving again, big shapes, big sounds, and through the fuzz I was able to catch,

“Cal …ya …--ear me?”

My eyes slipped closed and I lost my balance, but didn’t hit the floor. Just kept falling, and falling, and –

* * *

 

“Cal!”

My eyes snapped open and I shot up so fast I knocked myself backwards. My head slammed into the corner of the seat of a chair. I scrunched my eyes closed again and dropped my head into my lap, rubbing the back where there was probably going to be a bump later. A sharp pain shot through my arm when it touched my neck and I dropped my hands, my fingers curling into fists as I hunched farther into myself.

I opened my eyes.

The bandages were a dark, ruddy brown again.

“What happened?” I asked. My words were slow and slurred, my tongue heavy and lazy and my lips not curling into the sounds right, something wet slipping down my chin that I had to wipe away with the back of my hand.

Hands on each of my cheeks and I looked up to see Robert staring worriedly at me. “Are ya okay, Cal?” he asked. His voice was soft and fuzzy.

“I think so,” I murmured. My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “What happened?”

“What’s the last thing ya remember?” Robert asked. “Ya’ve been like this all day. They had tae carry ya out tae the day room this mornin’.”

My eyebrows furrowed together. “What?”

I jumped when something breathed on my ear, a whisper I couldn’t understand.

Robert jumped backwards. “Cal?” he asked. His brown eyes were so wide they nearly took up his whole face.

“I... ” I reached up for my ear and winced when my fingers touched it—the skin was crusty and sore and –

“Robert?” I asked. “Is there blood on my ear?”

Robert titled his head to the side quizzically. “Yuh,” he said. “Both of them, and ya’re face and ya’re arms.”

I jerked up to my feet, stumbling and nearly toppling over when they didn’t move forward with the rest of my body. I caught myself on a bookcase, looking over the room—everyone was staring at me, Robert, Twitch, everyone, the TV and the cartoons completely ignored. Their eyes were wide, some of their mouths were hanging open and I couldn’t breathe, my chest was too tight and the room was so hot and stale and I couldn’t _breathe_ and my feet were still stuck like the ground was made of tar and the cotton started spreading from my mouth to my ears to my head to my—

When my eyes opened again it was to the grey and white speckled ceiling. The only sound was the heater whirring in the vents. My head hurt, like a herd of angry elephants had stormed through my brain. My vision blurred at the edges and my mouth was dry. Every now and then, my feet twitched.

I was in my bed. The sun on the other side of the window said that it was probably early afternoon. How? Where had the rest of the day gone? I’d been in the corner trying to escape from the voices and then …and then I was here. But that was in the middle of the night.

When I blinked, it was slow and sticky, and when I rolled onto my side toward the window it took so much force that I could barely let out a groan.

“Cal? Are you awake?”

It was Berke. His voice was soft and gentle. I sighed, steeling myself up to roll back to the other side. Why was it so hard to move?

“What happened?” I groaned. I forced myself to sit up and kicked my feet off the edge of the bed, lurching forward with the sudden dizziness that hit. I didn’t look up.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked.

I squinted at my sock covered feet and frowned as I thought.

“Sort of,” I said. “I remember the voices came back, and I was trying to get away.”

“Is that what happened?” Berke asked.

I nodded. I opened my mouth and flexed my tongue to try to get the words moving right again, but they were heavy and tasted like iron.

“You hurt yourself pretty bad last night,” he continued. I finally looked up. His dark brown eyes were soft. He looked at me with the most sympathy anyone ever had, and for once, there was no blame attached. He ran his hand over his smooth-shaved head. “You pulled some of your stitches out and scratched up your arms and your ear really bad. Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened next?”

I paused. I shook my head and looked back down.

“The night techs had to give you a shot,” he explained. “The medicine is why you felt so groggy all day.”

The medicine, again, the medicine that was supposed to fix everything but just made me worse in different ways. Different kinds of feeling bad.

“I’m going to sit with you the rest of the day, okay, Cal?”

I looked up when he spoke again. “Why?”

“Just to make sure you don’t slip back again, and I can react faster if you do,” he explained. “You’ll have someone with you all day and night for the next few days, until you start feeling better. You can still go out to the day room and go to groups with everyone else, but you’ll have to have meals here on the unit, and you’ll always have one of the techs with you in case you start feeling bad again.”

I nodded and wiped my nose with the back of my hand, but didn’t speak. What was the point of speaking if nobody cared what I said anyway? They wouldn’t even tell me what medicine I was taking and no matter what they asked me they never listened to my answer. I was just some mad fourteen-year-old kid like hundreds they’d seen before me. They didn’t care.

Nobody did.

* * *

 

They didn’t make me go to any groups for the rest of the day while I recovered from the shot. I mostly stayed in my room and slept or stared out the window. Heavy rainclouds were coming in, dark and grey. They were the same color as my eyes, but they were angry. I was scared.

At five they brought me into the day room to eat. Berke switched off with one of the evening techs, Catherine. Even though I’d been here for two weeks, I didn’t know her very well. We never talked much about anything because she never led the wrap-up group. She pulled up a chair at the table where I sat and said, “How are ya tonight, Cal?” Her accent was even thicker than Robert’s. She was probably from somewhere around Dundee.

I shrugged one shoulder and pushed a few bites of food around my plate before putting one in my mouth.

“Berke told me ya had a pretty rough day?”

Was everyone talking about me, now? Did they tell the other patients, too? Did everyone know?

“I guess,” I mumbled. I stuck another forkful of food into my mouth. When I swallowed, my stomach lurched. I put my fork down.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Why are you asking like you care?” I snapped. My hand flew to my mouth and I swallowed hard. Oh no. What was I doing? I was going to get in so much trouble –

“What d’ya mean?” But she wasn’t angry. Her face was calm and her eyes were locked on mine as she waited for an answer.

My feet started twitching again, but it was different this time. I tapped my heels, left right left right left right, and rubbed at the back of my arm. Suddenly my skin felt too small and the only way I could fix it was to _move_. So I stood, pacing back and forth behind the chair, a few steps this way and a few that. I turned and gripped the back of the chair so hard my arms shook. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to get everything to slow down, but it was so fast, like last night but without the voices.

“Cal?”

“I mean nobody listens or cares about what I have to say!” I finally snapped. “They don’t talk to me, they talk at me, and they just tell me, ‘Do this because we say so even though it hurts because we know best.’ Nobody will talk to me or tell me what’s going on. I don’t even know what my medicine is called!”

“Have you asked the nurse –”

“ _Yes_! And she just says it’s medicine, take it, it’s good for me. I’m just a teenager but I’m not stupid but they treat me like I am!” I was pacing again, around the table now. My hands were still shaking and suddenly I was just so _angry_. Up until now I’d been sad and scared but I’d never found the energy to be angry, but here it was, rushing through me with nowhere to escape. I stopped pacing and turned in a circle, stamping my feet. My nails dug sharp and ragged into my arms as I hugged myself, curling in and trying to find words or actions or anything that could help me get it _out_. A heavy sob ripped out of my mouth, but I wasn’t crying because I wasn’t sad anymore. The anger tore through my muscles like a living thing, biting and clawing everywhere, and the terror that followed it because I couldn’t make it stop was just as bad.

“Cal?” Catherine said. I shook my head. “Cal, talk tae me. What’s gang on?”

“It’s –” My hands spasmed and I ran them through my hair. My fingers were still tangled in it when I put my hands on my neck. “I don’t... I... everything’s going so fast, I can’t...”

“Do you want tae come to see the nurse with me?” she asked. “She can give ya something tae make ya feel better.”

I shook my head wildly.

“It won’t be like last night,” she said. “It’ll be an anxiety pill. It will help slow ya down. It will help ya stay calm.”

“No.” It came out in a soft whine and I shook my head again, but slower. “The medicine you give me always makes me sick. I don’t want to feel sick all the time anymore.”

Something breathed against my cheek, hot and dry and stale. My eyes snapped open.

“Okay,” I said.

“What?”

“I’ll take your medicine.”

Anything to keep the voices away, even if I felt sick for days afterward.

* * *

 

Catherine stayed with me while I took the pill from the nurse, explaining what it was and what it would do and what kind of side effects might happen.

“Ya might get a little dizzy or lightheaded,” she said. “That’s normal. If ya need tae lie down, just let me know.”

The pill was small but it stuck in the back of my throat and I almost choked on it. I had to take another drink of water to get it down.

“All right,” she said. She put her hand on my shoulder and gently nudged me to the side. I turned away from the nurse’s station, the plexiglass window with the little dip in the counter underneath to pass pills through. My hand tightened on the Styrofoam cup she’d given me. “Let’s go back to the day room. Everyone else will be back from dinner soon, so let’s get yours finished, yeah?”

I nodded, but how I was supposed to eat when everything was still going so fast? My thoughts and my heartbeat and my body, that was why I was vibrating like this, because it needed to move but I couldn’t.

“How long does it take?” I whispered. I looked up, shaking my head to get my hair out of my face.

“About fifteen minutes,” Catherine said. My hands tightened on my arms. They were shaking.

* * *

 

When the medicine hit, it wasn’t like all the times before. It was soft and warm and calm. My body relaxed as my head started to slow down, and even though it was sluggish and a little fuzzy, it wasn’t like the shot. I could still think – everything just came slower, now. It gave me some time to think about things on their way from my brain to my mouth.

I took a deep breath and leaned back into the plastic coated chair, closing my eyes to block out the bare walls and barred windows. My fingers twitched and I curled them into the ID band on my left wrist, tugging just hard enough to put some pressure against my pulse. Everyone else would be getting back soon, but at least for now, I had a little bit of quiet.

Not long after, the rest of the lads piled into the day room and one of the other techs turned on the TV again. Soon, my thoughts were drowned out by the cartoons and the talking. It didn’t matter. I could breathe, and even if my thoughts were still slow, they were _my_ thoughts, and nothing, not outside or inside, could take them away from me. The dizziness came just like Catherine said it might, but I didn’t have to leave the chair until bedtime, which was hours away.

* * *

 

The night time group was always called the wrap-up group. We all sat in a circle in the day room, in chairs and on couches, and talked about how we felt about the day. There were no new patients because the ward was full, so it was the same as always: I hate it here, the voices are finally going away, my parents haven’t visited all week, I didn’t want to hurt myself today. Good things and bad things.

The side effects of the medicine from earlier had mostly worn off, so when they got to me, I could speak at a normal speed and didn’t have to think so hard about what I wanted to say.

“I think I’ve finally come to terms with taking medicine every day,” I said.

“That’s excellent!” Erin was leading the group tonight. She usually did. She was short and thin and because of that, sometimes new arrivals would think they could fight her, but she was the strongest woman I’d ever seen. “What helped you make that decision? I know you’ve been struggling with it since you came in.”

I picked nervously at a stray thread that had unwoven from the bandage on my right arm. I looked down and mumbled, “It makes the voices go away. Nothing else does. Even if it makes me sick, I guess if I have to pick I’d rather be sick than hear the voices anymore.”

“You mean they’re gone?” Robert said. I looked up. He was sitting on the other side of the circle.

Erin shot him a stern look. “Robert, wait for your turn to speak.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I finally looked at his face and nodded. “Yeah. For now.”

He grinned and gave me a thumbs up, then looked at Erin warily. He didn’t speak again.

Alex raised his hand. Erin nodded in his direction. “Go ahead.” He looked over at me, shifting nervously in his seat, and bit his thumb. His nails were even more worn down and ragged than mine, and he had blond hair, too, but his was cut short where mine was shoulder length and his eyes were blue.

“How did you do it?”

I had to strain to hear him because he always talked in a whisper.

“It was just finding the right medicine, I guess,” I said. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“You can’t just... make them?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t.”

“And that’s okay,” Erin added. She turned between me and Alex, then looked around the rest of the group. “Going to groups is very important, and so is seeing your therapist regularly when you get out, but it might not be able to help everything. In that case, people need medication to help their symptoms, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just like taking medicine for the flu, but for the long term instead of just a week.”

The nurse called for everyone who took nighttime medicine and Erin dismissed the group. We all stood in a cramped, too-close line, bumping into each other and a few shoving lightly before one of the techs swooped in to stop them.

I was third in line. My head and limbs were still a little loose from the anxiety pill earlier, so it was easier to choke them down. I didn’t hide them this time. I swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy sorry so late in the day, but at least I still made it!
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr at indecentpause for wips, excerpts, moodboards, short stories, and other stuff!


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning I woke up before the sun, but that didn’t mean much because December sunrises were always so late. The bees in my head were back and my stomach lurched and twisted when I sat up. I slammed my hand over my mouth and breathed in slowly through my nose. I swallowed. A wave of nausea crashed over me and I stood, running to the bathroom and slamming the door.

I hadn’t eaten much the past few days. My throat burned. My tongue felt like it might dissolve it was so hot. I threw up until there wasn’t even stomach acid left and dry heaved for another minute or so. My stomach and back cramped up tight. I jumped when someone knocked on the door and a twinge of pain shot right through both.

“Cal?”

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and coughed. It was Berke. He was back on my suicide shift.

“Yeah?” I coughed again and pushed myself to my feet so I could wash my face and my mouth.

“Are you all right in there?”

I spit out the water in my mouth and nodded, then said, “I’m fine.” There were no locks on the doors. I didn’t want him coming in.

“Okay,” he said. “But I have to crack the door, just in case, okay? I won’t come in.”

The door creaked when he opened it, just a few centimeters. I dried my face on a paper towel and went back outside. Once the voices had gone away for good, I could stop taking the medicine and I’d feel okay again. I just had to wait until then, and everything would be fine.

I left the bathroom to see Berke in the doorway, leaning back in a small chair.

“What time is it?” I asked. He looked up from his book and glanced at his watch.

“Just past seven,” he said. “So we’ll have breakfast in about an hour.”

I nodded. Usually we’d go out into the day room if we woke up any time past six, but –

“Is it okay if I just stay in bed until then?” I asked. “I feel really dizzy and sick.”

“That’s fine. But I’ll need you to try to get up for the morning group after breakfast. Can you do that?”

I wiped my mouth again and nodded.

He smiled, bright white teeth against his warm brown skin. “Then it’s a deal. I’ll wake you up for breakfast, okay?”

I nodded and sat back down on my bed, the only one in the room, even though most had two. It was small and lumpy and made of some kind of pliable plastic, like a gym mat, but at least the pillows were normal. I turned away from the door, staring out the window at the dim shadows of the trees in front of the streetlights. For the first time in months, I thought about writing a poem, or maybe a short story. I didn’t know what about, but I smiled because I finally _wanted_ to again, after not caring for so long.

Then there was something at my ear, soft and crackly like autumn leaves. Something whispered, low and rustling and dry, like a snakeskin shed and abandoned or TV static. My hands clenched on the blanket and I grit my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to brace myself for the screams.

They never came, and the whispering faded.

* * *

 

“I was told that you were going to stop trying to fight your treatment, Cal?”

My hands clenched in my lap and I slowly looked up. “Yeah,” I whispered.

Dr. Mackenzie smiled. “That’s excellent. Can I ask, why the change?”

“Well...” I paused. How could I explain it without telling her I spit out my medication that night? “I guess I just decided I’d rather deal with the side effects than the symptoms. I’d rather be nauseous all the time than hear the voices constantly. So... I still don’t like the medicine. But I understand why I need it.”

“So how are you feeling today?” she asked.

I swallowed as I picked at the edge of the bandage on my left wrist. “Not great,” I said. “But not as bad as I was. Whatever that shot was they gave me yesterday knocked me out, but when I finally got back to myself I felt a lot better, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

I bit the side of my thumb. “Well, last night something weird happened.”

“What do you mean, weird? Can you describe it to me?”

So I did. I told her about the anger and the nervous energy and the racing thoughts and how it was a little like anxiety but also a lot different. “Erin had the nurse give me an anxiety pill. I don’t know exactly what it was.”

“It’ll be in your chart,” she said. The scratch of her pen against the paper was too loud in the otherwise silent room. I could almost hear my blood moving through my body. After a few moments, she looked back up at me. “Has this happened before?”

“The night you had to give me the shot,” I said. “There was this …spot on the wall and for some reason it was really important to clean it. I was super focused on it. I can’t remember why it mattered so much.”

“And you had the racing thoughts and everything, too?”

I nodded.

“Hm.” She flipped between a few pages in her notebook, then looked back up at me and said, “Are those the only two times?”

I nodded again.

“And did it happened at all before you came here?”

I shook my head.

“All right,” she said. She finally settled on a page in her notebook. “For now we’ll keep you on the same medication, since, other than that fit the other night, it seems to be helping?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I mean, I’m still sad all the time. Sometimes I hear things. But they aren’t as bad as they were.”

“Hm,” she mumbled again. “In that case, we’re going to increase your Risperidone a little bit, but we’ll keep your Prozac the same for now. If an episode like that happens again, with the racing thoughts and hyperfocus and nervous energy, I want you to tell a tech right away, and make a note of it so you can tell me the next time we meet. Can you do that?”

I nodded.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

* * *

 

Most everyone was crowded around a movie on the TV when I went back to the day room. I told Twitch it was his turn with the doctor and he left his game of cards with Alex to follow the tech back to the meeting room. Robert was hanging upside down on the chair I usually sat in, his head on the floor and his feet hanging over the backrest. He was chewing his hair again. I sat down beside him and put my closed sketchbook in my lap, but didn’t speak.

“Hey, Cal.”

“Hey.”

“So is the doctor finally listening to ya?” The way he dropped his ‘g’s slurred his words together a little too fast to keep up with.

“I think so.”

“That’s good,” he said. “It’s probably ‘cause the voices went away. They’ll listen to ya now that ya’re what they want from ya.”

I squeezed my eyes closed as I tried to focus on his words, but I couldn’t keep up. He was going too fast. Or maybe I was.

“They didn’t go away,” I murmured. I rubbed my face a little too roughly. “They’re just not as loud anymore.”

“Well, that’s good, too.”

I nodded, but kept my face buried in my hands. Robert poked my knee. I peeked between my fingers, but didn’t lift my head.

“Are ya okay?”

I shook my head. “There’s too much noise. But I know even if I ask they won’t let me go back to my room.” I finally looked up and over my shoulder. Berke was there, like he always was, a bit out of the way to give me space but still behind me, hovering. He was talking to one of the other lads. But he still kept a careful watch on me.

The bandages on my wrists had been changed again, back to the sterile, sharp white, and they’d been clean since the night I tried to bite my stitches out. New bandages, new stitches. Maybe someday I’d be able to get rid of them.

* * *

The voices were softer, but everything else was dimmer, too. The colors were there, but dull, and everyone’s voices came through a haze, muffled and quiet.

It was finally quiet time, which meant I could sit alone in my room away from all the noise for a while. It was visiting hours, too, but I wasn’t expecting anyone. I never did. That way if nobody arrived I couldn’t be disappointed.

But this time, one of the other day techs, Chloe, knocked on my door as she leaned over to speak with Berke. She straightened and said, “Cal, your parents are here to see you.”

I sat a bit straighter and pulled Twilight closer to my chest. “They are?”

“They’re signing in now. I’ll send them back, okay?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, but she had already gone.

A few minutes later, Mam rushed into the room, scooping me into her chest in a tight hug.

“Oh, Cal, hen, we’ve missed you so much.”

She rocked back and forth with me for a few minutes, and when she finally pulled away, Dad gently patted my shoulder and pulled me into a loose, one-armed hug. I awkwardly hugged back.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” she said. “We just couldn’t get away from work until now.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured, and it was, because at least they were _here_.

“How’s your treatment going?” she asked.

I didn’t go too in-depth. I didn’t tell her about my breakdown in the middle of the night or that I tried to rip my stitches out again. But I told her the medicine was finally starting to do its job, even though it still made me sick.

“But maybe that’s just how it has to be,” I whispered.

Mam and Dad shared a sad glance.

“When can I come home?” I asked.

Mam smoothed my hair out of my face with both hands. “That’s up to the doctor, hen. Hopefully soon. Just keep taking your medicine and going to your groups. Just do what the doctor and the nurses say, and hopefully you’ll be out soon.”

Dad still hadn’t said anything, and I wasn’t sure whether it was because he didn’t know what to say, or if he just didn’t want to say anything at all.

“How are Brendan and Iain?” I asked. They shared a nervous glance. I looked down at my hands, at my fingers picking at my nail beds, ragged and bitten.

“Your brothers are both doing fine,” Dad finally said.

“What about Brendan, though?” I asked. Dad looked away and Mam glanced down.

“Don’t worry about them right now, Cal,” Mam said. “Right now you need to focus on yourself and getting better.”

* * *

 

Mam and Dad didn’t stay long. They left before visiting hours ended and none of us knew when they would come back. Maybe to pick me up when it was time for me to go home.

The afternoon dragged. Its slow, slogging footsteps took hours to make just one revolution around the clock. More cartoons, more board games and cards. I stayed by the foot of the chair, leaning against the side and sketching. Robert was watching the TV with a bunch of the other lads.

His profile went down on the paper easy. He was all soft lines and curves, round nose, round cheeks, wide, round eyes. Circles and ovals and spheres. It was the details that made the drawing interesting -- his bitten lips, the dark rings under his eyes, his black hair, ratty and thick in some places and overly fine and flyaway in others. I didn’t think he’d brushed it in all the time I’d been there.

The afternoon was slow but the night was slower, big expanses of unfilled time and eventually drowsily staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping.

* * *

 

Four days after my breakdown, they took me off suicide watch.

“But if you need to talk to someone, I’m still here,” Berke said.

* * *

 

“How are you feeling today, Cal?”

It was the same question in the same room on what may as well have been the same day. I shook my head and looked up at Dr. Mackenzie. “A little better. The voices are just a quiet mumbling now, and not all the time.”

“Good, good! And have you had another episode with the racing thoughts?”

I squinted at the framed diploma behind her head, the wrought-iron letters of her school and her name nailed to the paper. The ‘D’ was crooked.

“Cal?”

I looked back at her again. “Oh, um... no. I haven’t.” Her voice was... not quite _fuzzy_ , but softer, muffled, like we were on opposite sides of a pane of glass. The white walls were tinged with grey, like dirt ground in, and her bright blonde hair had gone pale, her freckled skin ashen. The window behind her was too high up to see through directly, but I could hear the tapping of rain against the double paned glass. The sky was dark and grey.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” It took monumental effort to force the heavy word over my tongue, and it tumbled out, harsh and disconnected like falling bricks. I opened my mouth and flexed my tongue. Closed it again. The slowness hadn’t gone away since the medication change.

“And what about the depression?”

“It’s …” I paused, searching through the fuzz in my head for the right words. “It’s not so bad. I’m not so sad all the time anymore. I’m mostly bored.”

“Have you been drawing or writing?”

“Drawing some,” I said.

“That’s good. So you still want to work on your hobbies.”

“Yeah.” When I blinked, my eyelids dragged, slow and heavy. I bobbed forward toward the desk but caught myself on my knees.

“I think we’re done for today, Cal,” the psychiatrist said. I looked up at her and squinted to try to clear up the fuzzy lines. “If you continue to improve, you can probably go home in two or three days.”

My head snapped up. “Really?” I had to start and stop twice in order to get the word out properly.

“Yes,” she smiled. “We were never going to try to keep you here forever.”

* * *

 

We were only allowed to make calls out during afternoon downtime, so despite the heaviness in my limbs and on my tongue, I was vibrating with excitement at the idea of making the call to my parents: _I’m better. I’m normal now. I can come home._

I looked down at the sketchpad in my lap. The third sketch of Robert I’d done that day. The way he moved lent a dynamic to the lines that not many other people could. We hadn’t talked since breakfast, just before my meeting with the psychiatrist. I hadn’t talked to anyone. I just watched, like always.

I laid down a few more lines, but my hands dragged like they were made of concrete. I shut the sketchpad and leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes.

“Hey!”

I opened them again. Robert was leaning over me. His grin was bright but his eyes were tired, foggy and ringed in black and blue.

“What are ya drawing?” he asked.

“Nothing, anymore.”

He jumped over to the side of the chair and leaned against it.

“Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Nope.” He stood up straighter and crossed his arms, like it was an accomplishment to be proud of. He plopped down on the armrest and grabbed out at my sketchbook. My hands tightened and I jerked it away.

“I just wanted to see,” he said.

“ _Ask_.”

“Can I see?”

I swallowed. My fingers twitched around the sketchbook’s spine. “No.”

He frowned, but then stuck his tongue out at me and turned back to gaze at the TV. I had no idea what was playing. Probably a movie. It had been going on for a while.

“I’m going home in a couple of days,” I finally murmured.

Robert whirled toward me. His eyes were wide and his mouth fell open. A few strands of his stringy hair stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“What?” His throat jumped when he swallowed.

“I’m –”

“ _No_!” The room went still. The only sound was the soft background hum of the TV. Robert jumped off the chair, at least ten centimeters shorter but still towering over me. I sunk back into the plastic cushion, trying to shrink myself down. Without realizing it, I folded my arms around my sketchpad and hugged it to my chest like a shield.

“You can’t leave!” he shouted. Oh, god, everyone was staring, Twitch and Alex and all of them. Where were the techs? “You’re the only one in this stupid place who understands me! You can’t –”

“Robert.” Berke gently put his hand on Robert’s chest and pushed him back a step to separate us. I looked up, eyes wide and wet. I’d never been naïve enough to believe Robert was my friend but even so, I’d thought --

Robert whirled on Berke and snapped, “Don’t touch me.” Berke’s hand fell away.

“Robert, you need to calm down. Leave Cal alone. You know if you have a problem you’re supposed to bring it to someone on staff. You do not yell at or touch the other patients.”

“But –”

“Do you understand me?” His voice was soft, but firm.

“But he –”

“Can I go to my room?” I blurted. Berke nodded. I ducked behind him to put more distance between Robert and me and scampered down the hall to my door. I ducked inside and closed it as much as I was allowed, then dropped my sketchpad at the foot of the bed and crawled in under the covers.

Even through the bare crack of the door, I could hear Robert screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see me on [tumblr at indecentpause](http://indecentpause.tumblr.com/) for excerpts of WIPs, moodboards, tag games, writing memes, and more!


	4. Chapter 4

Robert didn’t speak to anyone the rest of the day. He stayed curled up in the corner, playing with his fingers and chewing on his hair, glaring at anyone who came too close. Eventually even the techs stopped trying to talk to him. I was sitting in my usual chair, sketching little animals, sometimes glancing over in his direction. He never looked directly at me.

I jumped at the soft touch on my shoulder and whirled around, but it was just Berke.

“Don’t let him make you feel guilty about leaving,” he said. “You’re not supposed to stay here for any longer than you need to. The goal of coming in is getting out.” He smiled at me. My smile back was small and weak. “You’ve come a long way, Cal. You’ve done a good job.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. But my eyes wouldn’t stop wandering over in Robert’s direction.

* * *

 

He didn’t come out of his room the next morning and I didn’t see him at breakfast. He wasn’t in our morning goals group. Near the end, I raised my hand and asked, “What happened to Robert?”

“He’s been transferred to a different hospital,” Chloe said.

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you, Cal, you know that. It’s a violation of patient privacy.”

I nodded and looked back down at my feet, hoping that, wherever he was now, there was somebody there who’d understood him like I did. He needed that as much as I needed quiet and a stable schedule, and without it, he would fall apart.

* * *

 

None of the other lads had ever talked to me much outside of groups, and they didn’t start after Robert left. He had been the only one to talk to me regularly, and I knew it was my own fault because I was so quiet, but it was still lonely. I’d known he wasn’t really my _friend_ , but we’d understood each other, and sometimes that’s just as important.

But the days passed as they always did, with meals and groups and free time in the day room and quiet time in our own rooms, and the sun set and rose and set and rose again, and then four days had passed, and they released me. It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week, so my parents had to take off work and my brothers were at school. Mam brought me a jacket.

“It’s very cold outside,” she said.

The hospital gave back my shoes and the few other things they’d taken when I’d been admitted, but it wasn’t much because I’d sent most of it home with my parents.

A cold, light breeze hit me in the face when we left the building, chilling my nose and lips. I pulled the neckline of my jacket up to cover my mouth. It was scarf weather.

The air was fresh and the trees were white and the whole parking lot smelled of wind and sun, cold and bright. I followed my parents back to our little black car and got into the backseat.

“We were thinking of going out for lunch,” Mam said. She turned to face me from the passenger’s seat. “Your choice.”

I bit my lip. I hadn’t been able to choose _anything_ in weeks.

“Sandwiches?” I asked.

“Cal, we can do that at –”

“ _Connor_.”

Dad paused. “We’ll go to the café down the street from the school. How about that?”

“We don’t have to,” I murmured. “If you’d rather go home.” I didn’t want to be any trouble, especially when I’d barely been out of the hospital for five minutes.

“No, Cal, it’s fine,” Mam said.

“Okay.”

The drive was quiet. Nobody said anything. Nobody knew what _to_ say. Was lunch going to be like this, too?

It was. There was awkward, stilted small talk, but we didn’t have a real conversation. Mam talked a little about when I was going back to school – next week – and I asked if I could get my missed homework tomorrow so I wasn’t too far behind. Most of my stay had been during the winter holidays, so I would only miss a week by the time I went back.

“What did you tell the school?” I murmured. “Where did you tell them I was?”

“We said you were in the hospital with pneumonia,” Dad said.

“We didn’t think you would want people to know about what happened,” Mam explained.

“Thank you,” I whispered. I wasn’t used to speaking at a normal volume anymore. I was used to being quiet and staying out of the way.

“You’re going to have to start speaking up or nobody in school will be able to hear you talk,” Dad said. I nodded.

“Yes, Dad.”

“A little louder.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good!” He smiled at me for the first time since everything started, and I smiled back.

Lunch didn’t last long. I was used to eating fast so the other lads wouldn’t steal my food, and Mam and Dad had never been people to linger at restaurants.

We passed the school, the church house, the little bed and breakfast where the tourists who wanted an ‘authentic vacation’ stayed. The ground was covered in a heavy layer of snow. It weighed down the branches of the trees lining the street, some with thin, dead branches that reached like long fingers toward the clear sky, some with green needles peering out from underneath the cold, heavy white.

We finally made it to the driveway and out of the car. I paused at the back door, just... _looking_. I had never been away from home longer than a few days at a time before. It was exactly the same as it had been when I left, but it felt different, too.

Dad unlocked the door and the three of us piled in. The house had never been dirty, but it was cleaner than usual. We walked into the kitchen, which had been cleaned from top to bottom. There wasn’t a single dish out of place, not even a newspaper on the table.

“Can I go back to my room?” I asked.

“Of course, hen,” Mam said. “You don’t have to ask anymore. You’re home.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, but if they heard me, they didn’t acknowledge it.

My room was cleaner than it had been when I left. There were new sheets and a new comforter on the bed, ones I’d never seen before, with blue and purple stripes instead of the old solid green. My drawers were organized, everything was off the floor, and some of the things on my shelves had been moved around. But they hadn’t done it to help me clean up – they were looking for other things that could have been dangerous when I got back home.

My favorite wind chime was still in the window. I ran my hand over it and smiled at the light, airy jangle of the metal bars and the rainbows cast about the room from the crystal on the end.

I dropped my bag of clothes to the floor and tossed Twilight onto my pillow. New pillowcases, too, that matched the comforter. They’d replaced everything. But then, they probably didn’t want to try to clean the blood out, if they even could.

I flopped down on my bed and left the clothes to unpack later. I buried my face in one of the pillows and hugged it close. It even smelled new, right out of the package. The wind outside rattled the windows, crawling in from underneath where the seal wasn’t airtight. I pulled my worn jacket closer around me and took another deep breath.

I was home.

* * *

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room, until I heard the front door open and Brendan called, “Mam, Dad, we’re home!”

I stood, slowly making my way to and peering out the bedroom door. I couldn’t see anything but hallway, but I knew I wouldn’t. Brendan and Iain would be in the kitchen with our parents.

The hardwood floor of the hallway creaked underneath my sock-covered feet. I slowed down, as if that would make it quieter, and crept my way to the end of the hallway. I peeked out into the kitchen from behind the corner. I saw the back of Brendan’s head.

I cleared my throat as I stepped into the kitchen, and when nobody acknowledged me, I said, “Hey, guys.”

The room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at me. Nobody said anything for a very long time. Finally, I said, as if it weren’t already obvious, “I’m home.”

“I see that,” Brendan said. His voice was cool, emotionless.

“How …how are you feeling?” Iain asked. At least he was trying.

“A lot better. They gave me some medicine and it’s helped a lot.”

Silence.

“Do you think you’re going to try to –”

“ _Iain_ ,” Mam snapped.

He fell quiet. We all stood, scattered around the kitchen like marbles, until Brendan finally said, “I’m going to my room to do my homework.” He gave me a wide berth when he passed me to get to the hallway, as if I were contagious.

“Okay,” I murmured, but he was already gone. My gaze dropped to my feet, awkward and slightly pigeon-toed. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I looked up. It was Iain.

He jostled my shoulder and said, “He just doesn’t know how to handle it. Give him time.”

“Neither do you,” I said. “But at least you’re trying.”

His face turned unsure and he looked away.

“He just doesn’t understand, yet,” Mam said. “That’s all.”

_Nobody in this house understands_ , I thought, but I would never say it aloud. Mam and Iain _were_ trying, and despite Dad’s roughness, I _thought_ , at least, he was trying, too. And I didn’t want them to feel guilty for not understanding something that even I didn’t, not fully.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience for this update! Over on indecentpause.tumblr.com I mostly update with original content on Sundays and Mondays and wanted to spread things out a bit, so from now on, updates will be on Thursday. :)

Fourth year wasn’t much different from the ones before. Everyone was just older. But they acted the same. When I went back to school, I’d expected rumors and whispers and gossip.

I wasn’t expecting that everyone would have forgotten me.

Maybe I just was that unmemorable. They didn’t see me over winter holidays and I was gone for a week, so I no longer existed. But it was easier that way. I could start from scratch. I didn’t have to explain my absence to anyone.

Brendan was at the same school in first year, but he avoided me as much as he could. Eventually I stopped seeking him out. I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends and I couldn’t deal with the stress of his repeated rejection for much longer. It seemed better to stop trying.

* * *

 

I’d been back for a month when it started.

It was the beginning of the day. Iain dropped off Brendan and me. Brendan scampered off to be with his friends, away from his crazy brother, and I made my way straight to my first class. I was only a few feet away from the building when a heavy hand hit hard between my shoulders, knocking the breath out of my chest. I coughed. Someone else shoved my books out from under my arm from behind. Three lads passed me, all of them laughing, and one of them turned around and shouted, “Have a good one, freak!”

I swallowed hard and lowered my head. _Freak_? What did that mean? It was just because I was quiet and kept to myself, right? I dropped to my knees to gather my books, and a girl’s voice said, “Are you okay?”

She stood at my right. She was about my height, with warm brown skin and eyes and beautiful black hair done in dozens of little braids. When I opened my mouth, nothing came out, so I nodded.

“Try to ignore them,” she said. “They’re just jerks.”

She crouched down to help me gather my things. There was just one book left, so she picked it up and put it on top of the pile in my arms. We stood, and she smiled at me.

“It’s just rumors, anyway,” she said. “Hardly anyone really believes them. It’s just something to talk about when they’re bored.”

“What rumors? What do you mean?”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth snapped shut. She looked down at her feet, scuffed the dirt, looked back up at me again.

“You really don’t know?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “I don’t... I don’t really have friends,” I said. “I don’t know anything about anything that people are talking about.”

She nodded. “Okay. Okay. That’s good.”

“What rumors are you talking about?”

“Um –”

“What are they saying about me?”

Her eyes weren’t on my face anymore. They were locked on my right shoulder.

“Just... you know... they’re saying that you hear voices and that... you tried to kill one of the younger kids, but I know it’s not true, nobody really believes it or anything –”

“What?” The blood drained from my face and straight into my stomach. Suddenly I was freezing cold. My stomach turned. I covered my mouth with my empty hand.

“Nobody really believes it,” she repeated.

I opened my mouth behind my hand, closed it again when my gag reflex triggered. I took a few breaths through my nose, then finally started to find words. The medication still slowed them down, but in all the time since I’d started it, I’d learned how to compensate and bring myself back up to the right speed.

“I... thanks for telling me, I guess. And thanks for not believing them.”

But what would she have said if she knew that half of it was true?

“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she said. “Sorry. I should have said that first.”

“Cal,” I whispered. “But it sounds like you already know that, I guess.”

She pressed her lips together and looked down, almost embarrassed, even though she had no reason to be. _She_ hadn’t started the rumors. It had probably been Brendan talking to one of his friends, who talked to someone else, and on and on until it got twisted into what everyone was saying now.

“Who are they saying I threatened to kill?”

“Nobody in particular,” Sophie said. “That’s one of the reasons we know it’s not true. It’s just one of those ‘a friend of a friend of a friend overheard xyz say blah blah blah to so-and-so’. There’s never been a name attached to the story.”

I nodded and looked down at my feet, my mind racing. How would I fix this? Could I fix it at all?

The bell rang, and I didn’t have to think about it anymore. I rushed by Sophie with a breathless, “Thank you,” and ran the rest of the way to class.

* * *

That afternoon after class, Brendan and I sat next to each other on the sidewalk at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for Iain to pick us up on his way home from Uni. Brendan was playing a video game while I pretended to read a homework assignment. I glanced over at him, his focused blue eyes and short, wind-mussed blond hair. It took me a few moments to work up the courage to ask, “Brendan, did you know about the rumors?”

“Which ones?” He didn’t look up at me.

“Which ones are there?”

“You hear voices. You threatened to kill a kid. You _did_ kill a kid from a different school. You weren’t in the hospital for pneumonia like everyone is supposed to say. You cut yourself. Take your pick.”

The way he said it was so dismissive, like it didn’t matter, like my question was just one of a hundred different annoyances throughout his day. Did I act like that when I was eleven? Or did he just act like that around me? I swallowed and curled into myself, bright red and burning with humiliation.

“Do you know where they started?” I whispered.

“Nah,” he said.

“Did you tell any of your friends anything about what happened?”

“I didn’t start the rumors, _Cal_ ,” he snapped.

“I’m not saying you did. I’m asking if you told someone who might have told someone else and so on until it got twisted around into this mess.”

“Why do you care? You did it to yourself anyway when you –”

Iain pulled up and honked to get our attention. Brendan stood. “I get front seat.”

I slid into the back and buried my face in my shaking hands. I tried to breathe, but I couldn’t steady my chest.

I wouldn’t be making a new start after all. Everything was following me into the new term.

Iain and Brendan were talking in the front seat, but it was as if it was from somewhere in the distance, over the hills and out to the sea. As we drove, their voices receded, slowly, like the tide, until I was alone again.

* * *

 

“Cal, hen, you're not eating your dinner.” I looked up at Mam, across the table, and around in a circle at everyone else surrounding me.

“Sorry,” I murmured. I'd been apologizing a lot, recently. I picked up my fork and ate one of the quail eggs on my plate. She'd made them for me, because they were one of my favorites, and I wasn't even eating them. “It's really good, Mam,” I said. My smile was weak. So was hers. But everyone but Brendan was still trying.

Iain gently bumped his shoulder against mine and said, “So, sports tryouts are going to happen soon. Were you thinking of getting involved this year?”

I gave him an incredulous look. “We both know I can't do sports,” I said.

“I was thinking of doing rugby,” Brendan said. Iain turned to him and smacked his shoulder.

“Good for you!” he said. His voice was so loud, booming. So big it filled the room. And I was so tiny. So small and inconspicuous and ...unimpressive.

I ate another egg and a few forkfuls of peas, then excused myself.

“But I'll be right back,” I said as I stood.

I went back into my bedroom, where my medication was. I dug through the bottles, trying to find the Prozac. I was supposed to take it with dinner and the Risperidone and Clonozepam at bedtime. I didn't understand why I couldn't just take them all at once like I did in the hospital, but the doctor had said to do it this way. I could have waited until dinner was over, but I needed to get away from my brothers' shadows, smothering and obscuring me like heavy, wool blankets. Brendan and his sports, Iain and his law school, and what was I? A teenager who was barely patched and stapled together with a handful of pills.

I dug out my Prozac and swallowed it dry, then went back to the dining room table for a drink of water and the rest of our dinner.

* * *

 

Sophie was sitting on top of the brick wall surrounding the school when I arrived the next morning. She jumped down, sending powdery white snow flying up into our faces.

“Sorry,” she chuckled, gently brushing off my shoulders. Her hands were covered in bright red and pink striped wool gloves. She gestured at the top of her head.

“You've got a little in your hair, too, but I figure you probably don't want me to touch it.”

I ran my hands through and ruffled my hair. The snow fluttered out like glitter.

“Hi, Sophie,” I finally said.

“Hi, Cal!”

I continued on my way to class. She stepped up beside me, heading in the same direction.

“Were you waiting for me?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday.”

My brow furrowed. “What?”

She hesitated. “When... I told you about the... you know.”

My eyebrows shot back up and I nodded.

“Well, I was going to find out eventually. Thanks for being nice about it, at least.”

She smiled.

“Do you want to be friends?”

Her question was so sudden that I nearly lost my footing and stumbled forward into the snow. “What?” I asked.

“Do you want to be friends?” she repeated. “You seem really nice. And I never see you with anyone, and _I'm_ never with anyone, and I thought, maybe we could hang out together at lunch or something. Or after school.”

My eyes darted over her face. We'd stopped in the middle of the schoolyard, staring at each other, me with my books hugged tight against my chest, her playing with her backpack straps.

“You'd ruin your reputation.”

She scoffed. “Nobody cares about me enough to even have a reputation.”

I hesitated. “You really want to hang out with me?”

She smiled. “Yeah. You're quiet, but you seem really nice.”

I bit my lip. My eyes darted between hers, bright and hopeful. Finally, I smiled back.

“Okay. I'd like that. Where do you eat lunch?”

“Usually in the cafeteria.”

“I usually eat in the hallway.”

“Okay,” she grinned. She gently patted my shoulder. “I'll meet you there, then.”

“I'll be easy to find,” I said. “I'm usually the only one out there.”

* * *

We ate lunch together that afternoon, and the day after, and the day after. The days turned into weeks, and eventually months, and she never asked me where I disappeared to every other Thursday or where I had been the first Wednesday of every month. I still had to see a psychiatrist and therapist, and even though I had thought I'd be able to stop taking the medication when I was better, my doctor stressed, very firmly, that it was something I'd probably have to do for the rest of my life.

Therapy was boring. She asked me a lot about my terrible childhood and my neglectful parents, and she made a lot of horrible assumptions about my situation before even asking me to explain. My childhood had been normal, just like anyone else's, with supportive parents and siblings I mostly got along with, and even though my family didn't understand exactly what was going on with me – I still didn't even understand it, how could I expect anyone _else_ to know? – all of them but Brendan were trying, _hard_.

One afternoon, when Mam was taking me back to school from my appointment, I said, “I don't want to go to therapy anymore.”

“You have to go, hen. Why don't you want to?”

“I don't like the things she says about you.”

“What?”

I explained, and the next Thursday I saw a different woman, a little older and much nicer, who asked me questions about myself instead of assuming to know me.

* * *

 

I had been out of the hospital and mostly stable for three months when it started. At first, it was just racing thoughts, like anxiety without the physical symptoms, and then it was extra nervous energy, so much I had nowhere to put it, no way to use it all, and then I started getting hyperfocused on weird, useless tasks like cleaning a spot on the rug or making sure a glass was completely clear. It was weird and disconcerting at first, but after I got used to it, I was able to harness the extra energy into things like climbing trees and going for sprints and gardening, although everything was going much too fast for me to sit still and do things like drawing and writing.

Class was so much harder to concentrate on, I needed to get up, I needed to walk and run and jump, I needed to _move_ , and although I was mostly able to keep it under control, one day it was too much, there were just too many things, and I got up and left in the middle of class to pace the hallways.

The door opened and closed behind me. I paced between one doorway and another, snapping my wrist and knocking out patterns against the lockers. Mrs. Scott came up behind me and gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Cal, I need you to come back to class.”

I shook my head so hard my hair flew in front of my eyes.

“You don't understand, I need to –”

“You _need_ to come sit down at your desk.” Her voice was firm, but her eyes were worried. Almost scared.

“ _No_.” It came out a pained whine. “You don't understand. If I sit still everything will... my legs will fall off, I'll explode, I _have_ to keep moving, Mrs. Scott.”

Her gaze darted over my face – my wide eyes, my messy hair, my breathing that came a little too fast from my open mouth.

“I need you to come to the front office with me,” she finally said. She slowly reached out for my shoulder and pointed me in the direction of the headmaster's office. I slowed down to keep pace with her, but she was walking _too_ slow, I needed to _run_. My hands curled and uncurled into and out of fists as I tried other ways to get the energy _out_. I probably looked crazy, but I wasn't crazy, I just needed to _move_ and everything would be _fine_ , why didn't anyone _understand_ that?

We made it to the building that held the front offices and Mrs. Scott shuffled me inside. She dropped me off at the nurse's office and they shared a hushed conversation, then, with one last, worried glance at me, she left to, presumably, go see the headmaster.

Nurse Clark sat down in her chair and gestured me toward the student waiting chairs.

“Why don't you pull up a chair and we'll talk?” she asked.

“I'd rather stand.” My words came out so fast they slurred together in one long string of syllables.

“Please sit down, Cal.”

“No.” I shook my head hard.

She stared at me, long and hard, as I shifted from left to right and back again, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

“Okay,” she finally said. She rolled her office chair a little closer. “Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

“Well,” I said, “recently I've had all this extra energy and nothing to do with it, because I don't know any sports or anything, so I've been climbing trees and running around a lot, and sprinting and jogging and stuff, and when it gets warm enough I might start swimming, and –”

“Cal, slow down.”

“Sorry.” My mouth snapped shut. I bit my lip. It tasted like salt. “But Mrs. Scott wanted me to sit down, and I couldn't, and I tried to explain because if I can't move I'll explode, I just know it, but I was probably being a disturbance to the other students even though I didn't mean to be, I just need to move around, you know, so I left the classroom so I could walk the hallway without bothering anyone –”

“Cal,” Nurse Clark said. “You can't just leave class whenever you feel like it.”

I shook my head and curled my hands in my hair. “I know, I know, and I'm sorry, I was just trying to help –”

“Why don't you sit down on one of the beds and we'll call your parents, okay?”

“Am I in trouble!? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any –”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I just think they'll better know what to do about this than me.”

So I finally sat down on the bed at the end of the row. I kicked my feet, my heels thump thump thumping against the heavy boarded side. These beds were like the hospital beds, made of thick, crunchy plastic, but these pillows weren't real, they were just more plastic covered in scratchy cloth. The plastic squeaked and creaked as I bounced. My eyes darted around the white room, ugh, I hated white _so much_ , why was everything always white? Doctors' offices and nurses' offices and therapists' offices and hospital rooms, white, white, _everywhere_.

Suddenly, a buzzing. My head jerked up and I looked around, trying to find where it was coming from. My brow furrowed and my eyes narrowed as I focused on the soft noise. In the back of my mind I could hear the Nurse on the phone, but it was far away. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the buzzing.

I tapped my ear. My eyes widened. _It was coming from inside my head._ What was it? Was it a microphone? Was someone recording me? Were they recording my _thoughts_? No, those were _private_ , those were _mine_ –

I stuck my pinky finger in my left ear, trying to gauge how far in I could get, if I could reach and pull it out easily. I couldn't. It was in too deep. I tentatively scratched the skin of my inner ear. How much pressure would I need?

It was still buzzing. I had to get it _out_.

I scratched again, a little harder, a little harder still, trying not to use any more pressure than necessary, and then, suddenly, there was blood on my fingers and I cried out when my nail scratched along _something_ , and then the Nurse was shouting my name and trying to grab my hands while the thing in my head kept buzzing, and recording, and watching.


	6. Chapter 6

“–al? Cal?”

My eyes fluttered open to Mam's worried face.

“Mam?” I asked. I looked at the ceiling behind her head. This wasn't the nurse's office. This was our living room. “How did I get here?”

She brushed my hair off of my forehead. “You had a fit at school. I came to pick you up. I had to give you your Haldol, and then I brought you home.”

My eyes went wide, my body cold. “What?” I turned my head and flinched. Everything on the left side was muted and dull and my whole face hurt. I gently touched my left cheek. Scratches. Had I done it to myself?

“Have you been taking your medicine?” she asked. Her voice was soft, scared.

I paused, thinking back, trying to remember. “Yeah,” I finally said. “Every day.” I fell quiet again, looking around the living room: the TV in the corner, the washer and dryer on the opposite side, the rock-paneled fireplace, the two rocking chairs at the foot of the couch. “Who saw me?”

“I’m not sure,” Mam said. “You walked out of your class, saying that you needed to move or your legs would fall off. Mrs. Scott walked you to the nurse. I picked you up there. Do you remember what happened in the office?”

I lifted my hand to my bandaged ear. “There was something...” I jerked up straight, one hand on either ear. “Is it still in there? Did I get it out?”

“Get what out?”

“There was a... a thing... that was recording...” When I tried to explain it I realized how crazy and ridiculous it sounded. But I’d been so _sure_ back at the school. I lowered my hands, staring at my palms as Mam wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“I made you an emergency appointment with Dr. Mitchell,” she said. “I’m taking you to see her in a few hours. Maybe we need to adjust your medication.”

My eyes were wide and wet as I stared at my palms, and finally, I dropped my face into my hands. The hot, damp pressure on the scratches hurt, but not as much as the rumors were going to when I went back to school.

* * *

 

The waiting room at Dr. Mitchell’s office was small and cramped and quiet. The only noise was the receptionist’s typing and the quiet murmuring of his voice when he answered the phone. I sat in the corner in a wooden chair with soft, blue cushions, staring at the white wall. White, white, everywhere. So sterile, so _sharp_ , like a scalpel just before surgery.

Mam sat beside me, silent, flipping through one of the many magazines scattered over the end table in the center of the room. I picked one up, skimmed it, put it back down again when I didn't find anything interesting. The seconds on the clock ticked by even slower than the ones at school.

Finally, Dr. Mitchell poked her head out from the door and called me back. I followed her through the door, through the small hallway, around the corner to the office on the left. Her office was the only office I'd ever been to that didn't make me feel sicker; the walls were white, like everything else, but she had colorful cubist prints on the wall and bright green plants scattered about and little wooden animals painted in pretty colors. Even the books on her shelves were colorful. It was a place I could maybe _want_ to be, rather than somewhere I _had_ to be. I picked up the little blue rhinoceros, turning it around in my hands. They were so small for someone my age, like a child's.

“Well, Cal.”

I looked up at Dr. Mitchell and put the rhinoceros back down.

“It's okay,” she said. “You can play with it.”

I picked it back up again. The wood was smooth and cool with sharp points and grooves in the bottom of his feet where the artist had carved his initials. My eyes stayed on the toy as she spoke.

“Your mother called me earlier to explain what happened at school today, but I'd like to hear it in your own words,” she said.

I nodded, but didn't speak.

“Cal?”

“I wasn't trying to cause trouble,” I said. “I just... I needed to _move_. I suddenly had so much energy coming in from out of nowhere and bouncing my knee wasn't enough like it usually is with my anxiety. It was like... like a wave had crashed over me and filled me up and I was overflowing. I don't know how to explain it any better than that.”

“Did you have any racing thoughts?”

I nodded.

“Any sudden urges to do certain things?”

“Just move. I wanted to run, specifically.”

“Anything else?”

I paused. “I keep wanting to clean things. Like, if there's a spot on the table, I'll scrub until the varnish starts to come off.”

She scribbled something down in her notes.

I told her about the recording device in my head. About how I tried to dig it out through my ear, and about how, when I came back into myself after Mam had given me the Haldol, I remembered doing it but didn't understand why I thought it was true.

“Is that why you have the bandage?” she asked, gesturing at the side of her face. I nodded. “Can you hear me fine?”

“Fine,” I said.

She paused, leafing through my chart.

“Has this ever happened to you before?”

“Twice,” I said. “Three months ago, when I was in the hospital. It happened there both times. And I've felt like this a lot the past month, almost all the time, but never as bad as it was until today. I could control it until then. I could focus the energy on cleaning and running and chores and stuff, and –”

“Cal,” Dr. Mitchell said gently. “Slow down.”

“Sorry.” My leg was bouncing again and I tapped my wrist against it, meeting it every time it came up. My hands were shaking. I put the rhinoceros down so I wouldn't drop it. She flipped through my chart again.

“Cal,” she said, “I think that the doctor in the hospital may have given you the wrong diagnosis.” Her words came out slow, but I wasn't sure if it was because of how she was talking or if I was listening too fast. “Do you know what bipolar disorder is?”

I shook my head.

“Bipolar disorder means sometimes you get depressed, but sometimes you get something called hypo- or hypermania, too. This... fastness that you've described to me fits the symptoms almost perfectly.”

I frowned. “What about the hallucinations?”

“That can also be a symptom of certain types of bipolar disorder,” she said. “Here.” She scribbled some things down in my chart and picked up her prescription pad. “I'm going to start you on a mood stabilizer and we're going to wean you off of your anti-depressant.”

“What?” My eyes went wide and my voice cracked.

“Don't worry,” she said. “The mood stabilizer will continue to treat the depression, too, but it will also treat the mania. The racing thoughts, the impulsive actions, the fastness and extra energy you describe. It will treat both.”

She handed me two prescription papers, one for something called Lithium and the other with instructions for how to wean off the anti-depressant. One pill instead of two for a week, half a pill for the week after that, then stop taking it altogether.

“I want you to come back and see me in two weeks,” she said. “And if you have any trouble with the new medication or any side effects, write them down and have your mam call me.”

“Okay.”

“You'll take your new medicine twice a day. Make sure you drink lots of water. Lithium effectiveness is determined through blood levels, so you'll have to get a blood draw done.” She pulled a piece of paper out of a folder and circled some things. “Here. Give that to your mam and have her make you an appointment. If she has any questions, she's welcome to call me.”

* * *

 

I started the new medicine the next morning. Within fifteen minutes of taking it, I was falling asleep at breakfast, dizzy and woozy and barely able to form a coherent sentence. Mam called me out from school and put me back to bed.

The next day wasn't any better, or the next, or the next. Finally, six days later, Mam called Dr. Mitchell to see if anything could be done.

“His levels might be too high,” she said. “It's been long enough. Get his blood draw done today. It should only take them a few hours to get your results. I'll call ahead and tell them to expedite the processing.”

They took three vials of blood. When they called us back with the results, they said the dose was still too low. Dr. Mitchell increased it to two pills twice a day, and when Mam asked her what I was supposed to do about school, she said, “Maybe you can find a way to home school him. Some schools have programs for kids who can't get into class.”

I'd been out of school for two weeks when Sophie called me. I'd never given her my phone number. She must have gotten it from Brendan.

“Hi, Cal!”

“Hey, Sophie.”

“I've missed you at school! Have you been sick?”

“Something like that.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don't know if I am.”

She fell silent. “What?” she finally asked.

“I don't know if I'm coming back,” I repeated. “They might home school me.”

Nothing but breathing and mild static for a long time, until she said, “Is it that bad?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“What is it?” she finally asked. “What are you sick with?”

I swallowed hard. “You know the rumors at school, right?” I finally asked.

“Yes?” Her normally sure voice was hesitant and nervous.

“Well, they're not true,” I said quickly, “but the reason they started is because I'm bipolar. And I've been struggling with getting my medication properly taken care of.”

She was silent.

“Sophie?” I finally asked.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Sophie –” My voice cracked and I covered my mouth, like I could shove it back in.

“No, no,” she said, “not because of that. My mam's calling me to help with chores. I'll call you back, Cal, okay?”

“Sophie –”

“Bye.”

A click and a dial tone. I stared at the phone in my hand, the cord wrapped loosely around my wrist, a nervous habit I'd always had when talking on the phone. I swallowed hard, untangled myself, and hung the phone back up.

I looked up. The kitchen was empty. The TV was playing quiet and low in the living room. Mam and Dad had been taking turns staying home with me and taking me to work with them so I wouldn't be alone. Gran and Grandpa were too far away, and I wasn't sure they even knew about the situation, anyway.

Brendan and Iain weren't home from school yet, but they would be soon, if Sophie was able to call me from home. I didn't want to see the looks on their faces when they walked in the door – shame, sadness, disgust.

I went back to my bedroom and closed the door. There was no more lock. My parents had removed it when I was in the hospital.

In the privacy of my own room, I pushed up my sleeves to my elbows. It was so warm all the time, wearing long sleeves and jackets, but there was no way I was going to let anyone see my arms. I ran my fingers over the thin scars, picking at the biggest ones, still puckered and pink. I didn't want to die, but ...but it had felt so _freeing_ when I tried that first time. Maybe I could find that feeling if I cut my arms again, but carefully this time, just to hurt a little bit.

I knew without looking there was nothing in my room that I could use, but it had been so long since I'd been out of the hospital, Mam and Dad weren't locking up the blades around the house anymore. They'd notice a kitchen knife missing. Maybe there was some kind of craft blade in the garage with Dad's tools? Mam would hear me going out the back door. Maybe I could go out the front and circle around to the garage?

I flinched at the sudden sharp pain on my arm. When I looked down, the tip of my finger was coated in a thin layer of blood. I’d picked a hole in the back of my arm while I was worrying without even realizing it.

I didn’t need a knife or a blade. I could do this all on my own.

The first one had been an accident, a surprise. The second one hurt even more, because my arm was hypersensitive to the scratching, now. But when I finally broke skin the third time, something... turned _off_ , almost. The stress slowly melted out of my shoulders and chest and I could breathe, as if that hole in my skin had opened up a blockage in my throat.

I stopped there, holding my palm tight on the wound. It wasn’t deep and it was barely bleeding, but I was afraid if I pushed it any further, it would circle back around, and I’d be miserable again.

* * *

 

Because of the scars from my attempted suicides, I always wore long sleeves. I hadn’t worn anything else since the night they found me. So it was easy to hide the bandages on my arm. I said less than usual at dinner, but I never really said much to begin with, so nobody noticed anything different.

Mam stayed home with me the next morning. Dad would come home at lunchtime and they would switch off. I didn’t know how they’d worked it out with their jobs, but they had, even though they shouldn’t have had to. It was about ten a.m. when I finally woke up from my morning medications. My hands trembled when I pushed myself up.

She was in the living room. The TV was on, but she wasn’t watching it. She was reading a book as it played quietly in the background. The volume was so low I couldn’t make out the words.

“Hey, um, Mam?” I crossed my arms over my chest. The heel of my left hand pressed against one of the scratches on my right arm, and it burned. It was a reminder of what a screw-up I was. It had helped at the time, but thinking about how my parents would react if they found out, even knowing I was so _weak_ that I couldn’t think of anything else to do... it was no better than my suicide attempts in the hospital.

She looked up from her book. “Hm?”

“I was wondering...” I shifted my weight to my other foot and tightened my hands on my arms. Why was I so nervous? She’d be _happy_ that I was asking. “I was wondering if I could do online classes? I know there are online colleges, so there must be online secondary schools too, right?”

A bright, wide smile stretched across Mam’s face. “You want to do online classes?”

I nodded. “All I ever do is sleep and draw. We both know that as long as I’m on this medicine I can’t go back into regular classes. I thought online classes would be the next best thing.”

“I just wish we could get you back into your old school,” she said. “I don’t want you to have to be so isolated.”

I shrugged. Now that Sophie had left, I’d be isolated at school anyway. At least taking classes from home I could be isolated without the bullies and rumors following me everywhere.

“How do you feel on this medicine?” she asked. Her voice was soft, hesitant, like she was afraid I’d be angry at the question. “Do you feel like it’s worth the side effects?”

“I think it’s too soon to tell for sure,” I said. “But I haven’t had a manic fit since a few days after I started it, and that’s something, yeah?”

She smiled. “Yeah.” She stood and walked across the room to me, running her fingers through my hair and gathering it at the back of my neck before she kissed the top of my head. I was almost as tall as she was, now. I could barely believe a year had passed since my time in the hospital already. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. I should have hugged her. I didn't know why I didn't. She looked down at me.

“Your hands are shaking, hen. Are you cold?”

I shook my head. “It's one of the side effects, I think. It's been happening on and off since I started the Lithium.” My psychiatrist was very insistent that I knew the names and doses of everything I took, the complete opposite of the doctor in the hospital. But there was something freeing about saying “the Lithium” or “the Haldol” or whatever, instead of just, “my medicine.” A level of control I didn't have before, even though it was only very small.

“You seem so much older,” Mam suddenly whispered. She pulled back, resting her hands on my shoulders. I looked up into her blue-grey eyes.

“Mam?”

She smiled, so sadly, broken. “You seem so much older than you did just a year ago,” she repeated. “The way you walk. The way you hold yourself. The look in your eyes.”

I cast my eyes down, silent.

“I'm sorry, hen,” she said. “I'm sorry I didn't know what to do. I'm trying.”

“I know, Mam.” My voice cracked. “I know how hard it is on you and everyone else. I'm so –”

“Don't apologize, Cal,” she whispered. “Please. Please don't feel like you have to apologize.”

I nodded, but I didn't say anything more.

* * *

 

My new books came in the mail a few days later. I sat at the kitchen table, leafing through the biology textbook, as everyone else came in and out on their way home from school and work. The phone rang. I left it.

Brendan was walking through and he picked up the receiver, stuffing it between his shoulder and cheek. “H'lo?” He paused. He turned to look at me, brow furrowed, and stood up a little straighter, holding the phone in his hand. “Who?” He frowned. “Yeah, fine.”

He put the phone down on the counter beside him, and, as he walked by, he said, “Cal, it's for you.” He still didn't meet my eyes. Maybe he never would. Maybe he'd never be able to again.

“What?” I asked, but he was already gone. Who would be calling for me? Gran and Grandpa, maybe? Maybe my aunt and uncle over in England? I pushed my book to the side and stood, padding over to the phone, socks slippery against the tile.

“Hello?” I wrapped the cord around my wrist. My hands were still shaking, but not quite as bad anymore.

“Cal!”

“Sophie?” My eyes went wide and I stilled, the only movement my trembling hands.

“I'm so sorry I had to go like that when we were talking earlier this week,” she said. “I'm so sorry. My mam wanted me to help with the dishes and she wasn't taking no for an answer. I'm so sorry I left after you told me that. I'm sorry if I scared you.”

“It's okay, it's okay,” I said. She was talking too fast for me to keep up. The Lithium slowed everything down so much. I talked slower, I thought slower, I heard slower. “I need you to slow down, though.”

“Sorry,” she said again. I wrapped the cord around my wrist a second time, a third, tying my sleeve to my arm. “How are you doing? Any news about coming back to school?”

“I'm not,” I said. “I'm starting internet classes in a few days, on Monday. It's a UK school based in England for kids who can't get to regular classes for one reason or another. The only medication that really works makes me too drowsy to function on a regular schedule. I sleep half the day, now.”

“I wish I could sleep half the day,” she laughed.

“No you don't.”

She paused.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Sorry,” she repeated.

Was this going to be us from now on? Tiptoeing around and apologizing every other sentence?

We both fell silent.

“I don't know what to say,” she finally admitted.

“Anything you would have said before,” I said. “The only thing that's changed is that you know about it, now.”

Silence. Then, suddenly, a giggle. “Sorry, I was nodding. I'm so used to sitting next to you sometimes I forget you can't see me through the phone.”

I smiled. At least I knew one person who wouldn't treat me any differently.


	7. Chapter 7

I spent the rest of the weekend setting up my school things. I made an email specifically for classes. Iain helped me write up a schedule around my sleep times so I could be sure I was using my time right and getting everything done. I had to make a username, first initial and last name. cowen. It looked like something in Welsh.

I shied away from the class chatroom at first and just kept to discussions on the website. The chatroom wasn't officially with the school. A few students had just decided to make one and invite the other students their age in. Finally, a week in, my curiosity got too strong, and I logged in. I just used the same username I did for school. It would be easier to remember everything.

I didn't say anything the first few times, just watched everyone else. Then, finally, one day, someone sent me a private message.

 

**cparker** : hey, I always see you logged in but you never say anything

**cparker** : just thought I'd send you a message, say hi, let you know we're not sharks or anything and don't bite!

 

I didn't reply immediately, unsure of what to say. cparker. His username looked familiar. He was in my… maths class?

 

**cowen** : Are you in the intro to algebra class?

**cparker** : hah, yeah, I am

**cparker** : I take it you're there, too, if you're asking?

**cowen** : Yeah.

**cparker** : so, if I'm allowed to ask, whereabouts are you?

**cowen** : Scotland.

**cparker** : you don't talk much, do you, dude? even online?

**cowen** : You talk like an American.

 

I was surprised at how upfront my statement was. Something about being behind a computer screen made it easier to be straightforward.

 

**cparker** : you caught me

**cparker** : I'm from California but I moved to England a few years back to live with my aunt

 

Even from behind the computer screen, I knew better than to ask why he was no longer with his parents.

 

**cowen** : Was the move a good thing?

**cparker** : eh

**cowen** : Sorry, that's probably none of my business. Just ignore me.

**cparker** : nah dude you're fine

**cparker** : anyone can ask me anything they want, I just can't swear I'll answer

**cparker** : so how did you end up in the online classes?

**cparker** : or are they shipping you off to the campus like me?

**cowen** : I was too sick for regular school. What do you mean the campus?

**cparker** : you didn't know? the classes are hosted by two boarding schools over here in England. there's two central campuses and then internet courses for people too far away or without enough money to send their kids to the school itself, one for boys (like me) and one for girls nearby

**cowen** : Oh. No, I didn't know that. What's boarding school like?

**cparker** : it's like regular school, but you live there. hah but that's probably not what you meant

**cparker** : no, it's okay I guess. better than living with my aunt. there's not a lot of supervision here. they leave most stuff to the prefects and heads of houses and teachers only get involved with really bad stuff

**cparker** : so if the prefects and such in your house are a bit unscrupulous and you have a little extra money, like me, you can get away with lots of dumb little things you might otherwise get a detention for

**cparker** : what's Scotland like?

 

I laughed a little at the conversation's sudden change in direction. He probably didn't want to incriminate himself any further. I knew Mam wouldn't want me talking to someone who admitted to bribing other students to get out of trouble, but none of the conversation logs were saved once the windows were closed, and aside from Sophie, it had been so long since I'd just had a normal conversation with someone.

 

**cowen** : It's nice enough. It's really pretty in the summer when it's green, but the sun doesn't go down until 11:00 or so.

**cparker** : p.m.? dang

**cowen** : What kinds of little things do you bribe your way out of detention for?

**cparker** : hah, mostly stupid stunts done around the school grounds. I'm an adrenaline junkie so I'm always getting into places I probably shouldn't

**cparker** : if you ever come to the campus we'll hook up and I'll take you skydiving or something

 

Before I was able to respond, he sent another message.

 

**cparker** : ah, well I've got to go. lunch is about over and I've got to get to my next class

**cowen** : are your courses online or in class?

**cparker** : both

**cparker** : I just have the one math class online. I take one per term. I'm trying to graduate early

**cowen** : Oh. Well, good luck.

**cparker** : thanks ;)

 

He logged off and I closed both chat windows so I could get back to my biology work. I was starting to feel drowsy again, and I wanted to get my assignment done before I went back to sleep.

When I woke up from my nap, it was nearly dinner time. My sleep schedule was a mess. Sometimes I'd be up at 2:00 in the morning doing readings or assignments because I'd woken up and couldn't get back to sleep for an hour or two. When I'd mentioned it to my psychiatrist, she said that it wasn't necessarily normal, but it was common for bipolar people and those on mood stabilizers.

* * *

 I never talked in the main chatroom, even after weeks had passed. I'd gotten to know the people who were there most often, just by reading: cvogel, a sardonic, sarcastic kid a few years older than me; ldrusus, a silly kid the same age who was always making jokes that were just a little too sexual; jjiao, who mostly only talked when it was in some way related to an assignment; mryanne, who usually rambled about music and theatre; jclearwater, who was always helping the other kids with extra credit work and specialized in foreign languages. The main ones I usually saw were all from the boys' school, and almost all of the students in the chat were on campus, some taking online courses, some not, but the only one I ever talked to was cparker, whose first name I didn't even know, even though we'd talked a few times over the course of each week. Even though I knew he would welcome it, I was still hesitant to initiate conversation, so I always waited until it was convenient for him to talk to me.

 

**cparker** : hey there!

**cowen** : Hi!

**cowen** : How was the week at school?

**cparker** : it was school, hah

**cparker** : nothing special, nothing new, nothing exciting, but the nearby village just opened a new activity center and they've got ROCK CLIMBING

**cparker** : so three guesses where I'm going to be tomorrow

 

I laughed and rubbed my nose. It was warm. My whole face was. Was I _blushing_? I didn't even know what he looked like, but trying to picture him anyway, with a bright smile and messy hair and sparkling eyes, who knew what color, it made me... warm. Happy.

 

**cowen** : Nice! I'll bet you'll have a ton of fun.

**cparker** : yeah :)

**cparker** : so, we've been talking for like a week now, and I know your last name from your username and class signoff

**cparker** : you got a first name you're willing to share?

**cowen** : Cal.

**cparker** : I'm Craig

**cowen** : Well, nice to finally have your name, Craig.

**cparker** : likewise

**cparker** : it'll be nice to be able to call you something other than dude

**cparker** : Cal, is that short for something?

**cowen** : Yeah, but I don't like my full name.

**cparker** : fair enough

**cparker** : so you know about my hobbies and what I get up to around here

**cparker** : what kind of stuff do you do for fun?

**cowen** : I draw a lot, write poetry sometimes, but I don't know if I'm any good. I don't go out much. Sometimes my friend Sophie comes over, but her mum's letting her less and less, so I don't know how much longer that will last.

**cparker** : yeah, you said you're pretty sick the first time we met

**cparker** : I know this question might be prying so don't feel obliged to answer, but what exactly is wrong?

 

I paused, unsure. He seemed so nice and accepting, like Sophie, but what if he wasn't as open as he seemed? I swallowed and pushed my hair out of my face.

 

**cowen** : I have some psychiatric problems.

 

A pause that seemed to go on for hours.

 

**cparker** : you probably shouldn't say vague stuff like that unless you want people to get the wrong idea

**cowen** : I'm bipolar. My medication and sleep schedule make it impossible to get to school normally so I have to do it from home.

**cparker** : oh okay

**cparker** : so this Sophie, is she your girlfriend?

**cowen** : I don't have a girlfriend and I never will.

**cparker** : man, don't get down on yourself like that. you never know

**cowen** : No, I mean... I'm gay.

 

It was the first time I had told anybody. Family, friends, treatment team, nobody knew. Everyone probably assumed I was straight but unable to date anyone because of my illnesses. I was terrified to come out, afraid that everyone would just try to make it another psychiatric problem that needed to be treated, when it was just another part of me, like my grey eyes, or the fact that I was short for my age. It had never been relevant to anything, so nobody else had ever brought it up, and I wasn't about to.

 

**cparker** : yeah? I am too, actually, while we're all coming out to each other

**cparker** : kumbayah and all that

**cowen** : I know it's none of my business, but I have to ask, do you know someone else with a mental illness? You accepted that really easily.

**cparker** : what? no, at least as far as I'm aware

**cparker** : but I mean, illness is illness and it's no different from if you had like, diabetes or something, right? the symptoms just manifest themselves differently

**cowen** : ...Yeah. Basically.

**cowen** : Sorry, not a lot of people understand that outside of my psychiatric team and my mum. Sophie kind of gets it but not really. So your reaction was just really surprising. In a good way.

**cparker** : do people give you problems?

**cowen** : A lot.

**cparker** : man, I'm sorry. I wish I could be closer to help you out

**cowen** : Really?

 

I covered my hand with my mouth and smiled. My relieved laugh bubbled out as a half-gasp. That might have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

 

**cparker** : yeah. I know I'm pretty loose with a lot of my words but I never say anything I don't mean

**cparker** : I have my faults and failings but I'm nothing if not earnest

**cowen** : No, I never doubted that. People just usually aren't that nice to me so I was surprised.

**cparker** : man, that's really crappy. you're so nice. maybe a little high-strung, but so what, right

**cparker** : oh man, I'm so sorry to cut you off here, but I've got to get going down to the cafeteria or I'm going to miss dinner

**cowen** : at 5:00?

**cparker** : I know, right? it's so early!

**cparker** : I'll probably be back on later, around 8:00 or so. maybe earlier if I let the internet distract me from my essay, hah

**cowen** : Well, have a good dinner. I'll probably be on around eight or nine, depending on how fast my medication knocks me out.

**cparker** : cool

**cparker** : well just in case I miss you, have a good night!

**cowen** : You too.

 

I flipped back through the catalog on the kitchen table for the third time as I waited for Sophie to come over. It was early Sunday afternoon and she would be getting out of church soon. Her mam wouldn't let me over to their house anymore, but she was still welcome at mine, for now.

While I'd been getting closer to Craig, I'd been slowly drifting further away from my family, spending more and more time in my room. It had actually been Mam's idea to have Sophie over, a last-ditch attempt to get me out of my room and away from the laptop they'd bought for my schooling. They couldn't take it away and I didn't think they even wanted to; they just wanted me to get out so I didn't forget how to talk to people. Not that I'd ever been good at it in the first place. I didn't know if I'd ever find a medication that would treat my symptoms without side effects, but I supposed if I ever did I would need to know how to communicate with people if I was ever going to be successful out in the world.

Iain had taken Brendan out to the movies. "I don't want to meet anyone who'd be friends with Cal." Brendan had said it under his breath, but I'd heard him.

Mam and Dad were in the living room, watching the news and reading the paper, respectively. Sophie's mam had said she could only come over if they were both there. In case I went crazy, probably.

A knock came at the back door. Mam came bustling through the kitchen and gently patted my head as she walked behind me.

"Go into the other room, hen," she said.

I went into the living room, where she'd just come from. We knew better than to let Sophie's mam talk to me. The last time, she'd been both cruel and condescending, saying things like, "He seems functional, are you sure he's not just faking for attention?"

The door opened and Mam called out for my dad to join her. He offered me a wink and a thumbs up as he walked by me. As my symptoms had been improving, his attitude had started getting better. Their voices drifted, soft and light, through the living room, and shortly after, Sophie barreled in, grabbing me in a hug.

"Cal!"

"Hey, Sophie." She ruffled my hair and I pushed her away. She laughed.

"I missed you!" she said. "What have you been up to since we saw each other last?"

"I'm back in school, in internet classes, now," I said.

"Good, good." She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "School has been the same for me. A lot lonelier without you, though."

"Have there been any more rumors?" I asked.

She hesitated. "Don't worry about them," she finally said. "They don't matter anymore. You're at a different school now. You get to start over in the middle of secondary school!" She laughed. "Not a lot of people get that chance."

"Not a lot of people need it," I said. Her smile faded. So did mine. I hadn't meant it to bring the conversation down, but that seemed to be all I ever did. Except online with Craig.

"Sorry," I said.

"It's okay." She smiled. Her hand hovered over the TV remote. "Can I?"

I nodded.

She didn't pay much attention to the TV, even as she changed the channels. "Have you made any friends?" she asked.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin there. "One," I said. "He's really nice. I told him I'm bipolar and everything and he didn't even flinch. We're in the same maths lesson but he's taking the rest of his classes on the campus where the online ones are based."

She grinned. "Good!"

"Yeah." I brightened and sat up a little straighter. "He's an adrenaline junkie, he said, and he really likes things like rock climbing and white water rafting and he's hoping to go skydiving for his sixteenth birthday." Even just sharing that little bit of information about him, my chest started getting warm and my breath and words came a little too fast, excited. I tried to keep my face level, but I could feel the smile tugging at my mouth.

Sophie chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "And you want to go, too?" she asked.

My mouth snapped closed and I looked down at my feet. "I basically live out of my bedroom," I said. "I just like to hear about what other people do out there."

She hummed, but didn't press. I swallowed hard and we both turned toward the TV.

We watched in silence for a while, but it wasn't long before Sophie asked, "So, your friend, what's his name?"

"Craig. He's from the States."

"Yeah? How'd he end up here?"

"He's not. He's in England. He moved in with his aunt. I don't know any details. He didn't offer and I didn't feel it was my place to ask."

"Don't you want to know?"

"Of course I do, but you can't just ask something like that! You have to let them tell you when and if they want to."

"Yeah," Sophie said. She leaned back against the couch and crossed her legs. "I guess you're right."

A pause.

"What have they been saying about me at school?" I asked again.

"Cal, I don't think --"

"Sophie. I know it's bad. But I want to know."

Sophie looked down, as she fiddled with one of her braids. Each one had a blue and a pink bead on the end. Her mam had redone them since the last time I saw her.

"Well, there's one that's not too bad. I can start with that?"

I crossed my legs and grabbed my feet. I nodded.

"Well, some people are saying I'm your girlfriend."

I went cold. "What? Why?" She didn't like me, did she? I'd never considered it a possibility anyone would, but I had no idea how to turn her down if--

"Because I come over sometimes even though you aren't a student at the school anymore, and I guess people think it's impossible for a boy and a girl to just be friends."

"That's dumb," I said. She looked down. "I mean... right?"

"Yeah," she said. When she looked up, her face was amused, and I relaxed. "I mean, you're great, Cal, and no offense, but I don't --"

"Yeah," I chuckled. "Me neither."

The cold evaporated and I flexed my hands. "Is there anyone you do --?"

She grinned and shook her head. "Nuh," she chuckled. "You?"

"Like who?" I said.

"Like your internet friend?" She raised an eyebrow and nodded her head back and forth.

I turned bright red and jerked back. My shoulders hit the back of the easy chair, trapping me. "But he's --"

"Yeah, I know." She shrugged. "But you've never expressed interest in anyone in any direction so I wasn't about to assume anything one way or another. And you turned _pretty_ pink when you were talking about him earlier."

I looked down, scratching at the carpet, soft underneath my fingers. My face and neck burned. I shrugged and bit my lip.

"Is that a yes?" Sophie wheedled.

"It's an 'I don't know,'" I said. "I can't tell if I just think I like him because he's so nice to me or if I like him because I _like_ him."

"Well, I know your parents would never let you go all the way to England unattended, but maybe you can get them to get him a train ticket for your birthday." She grinned. I waved my hand in front of my face and shook my head.

"I could never ask him to come all the way here."

"It's not _that_ far."

"You know what I mean. I don't think we could afford something like that anyway."

She shrugged and dropped her braid with a soft sigh.

"So, you said they're pretty bad?" I knew I shouldn't ask. I knew it would be terrible, that it would make me embarrassed and guilty and angry, but I needed to know what they were saying.

"They're saying you tried to kill yourself," she said. I noticed that she didn't say 'again.' She still didn't know about my first attempt. I would probably never tell her. Or anyone who didn't already know. She was fiddling with one of her braids again, a nervous habit, like the way I picked at loose threads on my sleeve, or the skin on my arm, although I'd been doing that less, since I started talking to Craig. He made me feel normal in a way that my family and Sophie couldn't.

"And that they locked you up," she added. I cast my eyes down and sighed, but I had wanted to know. And I thought I was glad I did.

"Well, clearly that part's not true," I laughed bitterly. Sophie's eyes went wide.

Are you saying you tried to --?"

"No! No," I said. I shook my head and waved my hand in front of my face. "I just mean... I don't know what I mean. Never mind. Do you want to watch a movie?"

She watched me carefully for a moment, then finally nodded. "Okay. What do you want to put on?"

* * *

 

Dinner that night was the same as always. Iain asked about how my visit was, but I didn't have much to say, since mostly we just talked and watched movies.

"We didn't do much," I finished.

"Still," Mam said, "It's nice that he has someone who can come visit him. That's his own age, I mean."

I was sitting right next to her and she was talking over my head like wasn't even there. She didn't mean anything cruel by it, but she'd never done that before I started my treatment.

"I just don't think it's good for him to sit on the computer all the time," she finished. I lowered my eyes and poked at my food with my fork.

"Mam, he's sitting right there," Iain said through his teeth, as if that would make it harder for me to hear. "You shouldn't talk _about_ him, you should talk _to_ him."

Brendan rolled his eyes, but thankfully said nothing.

Mam looked over at me and smiled, squeezing my shoulder. "I just worry about you, hen," she said. "Since we pulled you out of regular school. I worry you won't get the socialization you need."

"I didn't socialize much anyway," I shrugged.

* * *

It was two a.m. Only jclearwater and mryanne were in the chatroom, and neither were talking. I minimized the window and opened my schoolwork, going back to my maths work on the website. I pulled my notebook closer and started scribbling out some numbers.

A few minutes in, the private chat notification beeped. I looked up to see a new message from Craig.

 

**cparker** : hey there, you up?

**cowen** : Yeah.

**cparker** : oh good! I was hoping you were and hadn't just forgotten to log off

**cparker** : nothing lonelier than insomnia by yourself

**cowen** : You have insomnia?

**cparker** : not in the traditional sense. but I get nightmares sometimes, and that makes it hard to sleep

**cowen** : About what?

 

He was silent for what felt like eons, and I was about to say 'Never mind,' when he finally answered.

 

**cparker** : it's a long story.

**cowen** : I've got all night. If you want to share.

**cparker** : hah, I guess that is true

**cparker** : okay, well, you know how I live with my aunt

**cowen** : Yes.

**cparker** : well. and you know how I'm gay

**cowen** : Yes. Did they kick you out?

**cparker** : I wish. at least then they would still be alive

**cowen** : What? Craig, you're not making sense.

**cparker** : I'm sorry. I just, I haven't talked to anyone about the accident and I've never been good at emotional stuff in the first place

**cowen** : You don't have to?

**cparker** : well, I can't just leave it there now

**cparker** : so, my parents didn't know I was gay. and I was seeing this guy, who, in hindsight, was the worst decision I ever made

**cparker** : he was abusive, but I was too 'in love' to really understand what he was doing to me

**cparker** : when my parents found out, they were understandably angry, and we got in a huge fight about it because they wanted me to leave him and I didn't want to. it was late and it was rainy and they went for a drive to cool off

**cparker** : the last thing I ever said to them was 'good riddance.' there was a car wreck. they died. my aunt was my only living relative, so I got sent to live with her over here in england. never saw the abusive boyfriend again, so at least that piece of good came from it

**cowen** : I'm so sorry.

 

My hands went clammy, the back of my neck, cold. My throat tightened. I had never felt so useless, trapped behind a computer screen a country away while my friend was suffering.

 

**cowen** : It wasn't your fault, Craig.

 

It was probably useless, but I didn't know what else to say.

 

**cparker** : it was, though. I instigated the fight. they went on that drive because of me

 

I wanted to argue, but I didn't know if it was my place, or even how to do so, anyway. I'd never learned how to comfort people. So all I could do was repeat,

 

**cowen** : I'm sorry. I wish I had something more useful to say.

**cparker** : it's ok. thank you for listening. I don't know if I feel better, but at least I know someone doesn't blame me, I guess

**cowen** : What do you mean?

**cparker** : my aunt says it's my fault, too. I killed her sister and her sister's husband. I may as well have taken a knife to their throats

**cparker** : that was the dream I had tonight. sometimes I push them off a cliff. sometimes I shoot them. sometimes I sabotage their car so they'll crash

**cowen** : But Craig, you never did any of those things.

**cparker** : I may as well have

**cowen** : Craig, please. It wasn't your fault. I'm sure wherever your parents are right now, they don't blame you for what happened.

**cparker** : You don't know that.

 

It was the first time he'd used proper punctuation and capitalization. Something about it was so terse, so sharp.

 

**cowen** : I'm sorry. I guess it's not my place to say things like that.

**cowen** : I was just trying to help.

**cparker** : I know. I'm sorry, Cal, I just

**cparker** : I don't know. I don't know anything I guess

**cparker** : wanna play checkers? I know a website we can use. I don't want to talk about this anymore

**cowen** : Sure.

 

A few moments later, he sent me a link to the game he'd started. He'd already picked red, making me black. A random number generator gave him first turn.

We played a few games, sometimes talking in our chat window about it, saying dumb, useless things like 'good move.' We talked a little about movies, but mostly old ones, because I wasn't up to date with current film, or any media, really. He sent me links to listen to a few songs he liked. I plugged in my headphones so my parents wouldn't wake up. There were three, all by a band names Placebo, and I played them on repeat until we finished our final game and logged off so he could go to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

Even after a few months of being on the Lithium, I hadn't gotten used to the drowsiness, and while the twitch in my shoulders had finally faded, my hands still shook most of the time. My sleep schedule was still a mess: up for an hour, down for two, up for four or five, down for another, all day and all night. There was a regularity to it -- mostly I was awake and asleep during the same times -- but I couldn't stay awake longer than six hours at a time, and I was sleeping at least twelve hours a day once it all added up.

Mam shook me awake in the passenger's seat of the car. I snorted a little as I caught my breath, my eyes fluttering open. I wiped the sleep sand away with the heel of my hand and blinked a few times. I yawned.

"We're here, hen."

I was seeing Dr. Mitchell again. Just a regular appointment. Nothing special.

I didn't fiddle with the little animal toys anymore. My hands shook so badly, I was afraid I would drop and break them. But now that the mania was under control, the anxiety wasn't so bad, either, and my hands didn't need to keep busy so much.

"How have you been, Cal?" she asked.

"Okay," I answered. "The same."

"Your mood is still stable? No hallucinations?"

"Yeah, I'm still stable. And no hallucinations."

"Good, good. Do you need any new prescriptions or do you have enough refills for now?"

"I just need a prescription for the Risperidone," I said. I looked up from my hands in my lap. "Um, Dr. Mitchell?"

She looked up from her prescription pad. "Yes?"

"My sleep is really messed up," I said. "I mean, I like the medication except for that. Other than being tired all the time, I'm doing really well. Is there anything we can do? Can we adjust the dosage schedule or something?"

She looked down at the prescription pad again and hummed thoughtfully.

"I'd hesitate to change the Lithium dosage or schedule," she said, "because, like you said, it's stabilized your mood, and you're doing better than you have in months. But I agree that once you're done with school, this sleep issue could be a problem." She tapped her pen on the prescription pad a few times, then looked back up and said, "I'm going to start you on a new medication. Once a day, in the morning, with your other morning medications, with breakfast. It should help give you some energy to push through the initial drowsiness so you can stay awake through the day, and hopefully sleep more normally at night."

I nodded.

"This one I can't write refills for, so you'll have to make sure you come in every month so I can give you a new prescription."

I nodded again. She ripped the prescription out of her book and handed it to me.

"Take care, Cal. Make your next appointment for a month from now."

We filled the medication on the way home so I could start it right away.

* * *

The new medication wasn't like the mood stabilizers or anti-psychotics that took a week or two to take effect. The changes were instant. It took minutes to feel a difference. Instead of the drowsy, heavy-headed, heavy-limbed feeling I always got in the morning, I was just... awake. I was alert and clearheaded, the way I felt before I took my medication after breakfast. Rather than a new feeling, it was a lack of old side effects, and for the first time in over a year, I finally felt normal.

 

 **cowen** : I have amazing news, Craig!

 **cparker** : ya? what's up?

 **cowen** : We finally found a medication mix that really works!

 

It had been three days since I'd started the new medication, but I hadn't been able to talk to Craig because we hadn't been online at the same time. I'd been vibrating with excitement, knowing he'd be almost as excited at the good news as I had been.

 

 **cparker** : that's awesome dude!

 **cowen** : Yeah! I've taken afternoon naps a couple of times but only for a half hour or so instead of the two hours or so in the morning and the three or so in the afternoon.

 **cparker** : ah, is that why you haven't been on at night anymore?

 **cowen** : Yeah. I'm finally sleeping normally through the night because I'm not sleeping all day!

 **cparker** : well, that's awesome. I'm happy for you!

 **cparker** : does this mean you're going back to regular school?

 **cowen** : No. The breaks for ours are a lot shorter, so I'm ahead. If I were to get put back in my old school I'd have to be out for a while so I'd end up in the right place and my parents would rather my time stay structured.

 **cparker** : ya, I guess I can see that

 **cparker** : makes sense

 **cparker** : any chance you'll be coming to campus? ;)

 **cowen** : I have no idea? My parents haven't mentioned it so probably not.

 **cparker** : aw, that's too bad. it would be cool to be able to hang out with you in person

 **cparker** : sigh. I guess chats will have to fill the hole for now

 

My breath caught in my throat and my ears went hot. What did he mean by that? Was he just joking? He couldn't have found out how I felt; I never spoke to any of the other students outside of the online class boards. Only Sophie knew, and she'd have no way to tell him even if she wanted to.

 

 **cowen** : What do you mean, fill the hole?

 **cparker** : sorry, that was probably a weird choice of words

 **cparker** : I just feel like we've gotten really close over these past few weeks

 **cparker** : am I way off base?

 **cowen** : No! I feel the same way. I just didn't understand what you meant.

 **cparker** : glad we're clear :)

 **cowen** : So, now you know my life updates. What's been going on with you?

 **cparker** : just studying right now. nothing interesting, really

 **cowen** : No death defying, adrenaline pumping adventures?

 **cparker** : I wish! sixteen next year though, that means skydiving!!

 **cparker** : the school is putting on a carnival at the end of the summer term during Autumn holidays, though, so maybe they'll have some cool rides or something

 **cparker** : they always go all out for that kind of stuff since so many rich kids go here

 **cparker** : if your parents will let you, I can buy you a train ticket and put you up in a hotel

 **cowen** : And go to the carnival, you mean?

 **cparker** : ya!

 **cowen** : You'd pay for all that just so I can come out for a day?

 **cparker** : of course! my parents left me more money than I'll ever be able to spend and I'm just sitting on it right now

 **cowen** : I'll ask them. Autumn holiday is in October, right?

 **cparker** : yep

 **cowen** : Okay, so that gives me plenty of time to convince my parents that it's a good idea.

 

"Cal?" It was Mam, in the kitchen. "Hen, will you come here for a few minutes? Your dad and I need to talk to you."

 

 **cowen** : I'll be back soon. My mum's calling me.

 

I closed the window so nobody could go snooping, saved the schoolwork I'd been doing before the conversation, and headed into the kitchen. Even with the warmth outside, the tile was still freezing cold on my bare feet.

Mam and Dad were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. There were a few pamphlets and booklets on the table, one of which read, "Sheraton Academy Boys' School General Admissions Guidelines." My eyes darted up and between my parents. That was where I was taking my online classes through. Were they pulling me out? I wouldn't be able to deal with going back to my old school, not after being gone so long, not with all the rumors that had spread. Before it had mostly only been verbal, whispers and dirty looks and younger students shying away. But what if it got physical if I went back?

"Sit down, Cal," Dad said. "We need to talk to you about your schooling."

"I thought my marks were good?" I asked. They weren't _perfect_ , but they _were_ higher than average.

"Your marks are fine," he said. "You've been doing well. We just --"

"We think you need more structure, hen," Mam said. "Maybe better organization of your time."

"I could ask Iain to help me write a new schedule?"

"No, it's not... we think you need better organized time around other people. Especially your age," Mam said. She glanced nervously at Dad and cleared her throat as she shuffled some of the papers on the table around. "Now, I don't want you to think we're sending you away. This isn't a punishment."

"What isn't?" My fingers gripped hard on the table, now, and the back of my neck went hotter than my tight throat.

"I'll tell him," Dad said. He placed a hand over Mam's wrist and she cast her gaze down. He looked over at me. "Cal, we're going to send you to England to finish out your schooling at the Academy campus where your online classes are based. Now that your medicine has been stabilized, you can get back to a regular schedule, at a regular school. They have a trained psychologist on the grounds and your aunt and uncle have helped us find a few psychiatrists to meet for your medication. We thought... we thought this would be better than sending you back to your old school, because this way you can keep on the same class schedule. And we thought you might like to be able to...well, start over, with new people. We know you had trouble with rumors at your old school."

As he spoke, my throat got tighter, my neck got hotter. My palms were sweating. My fingers tensed and my hands slipped off the table. I wiped them on my knees.

"But what if I destabilize again?" I asked. My voice was barely above a whisper. "What if something happens and my medication needs to be changed? What if --"

"We know, Cal," Mam said, "and we've planned for all of those things. You'll have regular psychiatrist there who will be able to keep up with your medicine and help you with any changes you might eventually need, and the school has been made aware of the situation."

"Wha --"

"Just the headmaster, the nurse, and the head of house and prefect for your house," Mam said. My shoulders relaxed, but only a little. The longest I'd ever been away from home was the three weeks in the hospital. I'd be going out for almost four years, assuming I did College there, too.

"Would I come back for University?" I asked.

"If you wanted to," Mam said. "But if you decide you like it better there, you can stay. And of course you can come home during the holidays, or even for weekend trips if you wanted to."

My eyes were wide, my breathing came much too fast, my heart picked up triple time and I pressed my hand against my chest to calm it. Breathe. Breathe. My hands still always shook from my medication, but they shook harder now, in anxiety, in fear. This would be a good thing, right? In a roundabout way, this was what I had wanted. A chance to start over in a new place.

I just didn't think that place would be so far away.

"Just... don't forget about me there, okay?"

Mam smiled sadly and reached across the table to brush my hair out of my eyes.

'Never, hen," she said. "We'll get you a mobile phone so you can easily keep in touch with us. You can call us whenever you need to."

My breathing started to slow to a more normal pace, although it still came a bit staggered. I swallowed and nodded. Knowing I'd be able to get in touch whenever I needed to helped, and my aunt and uncle would be there, but Mam and Dad would be so far away. What if I needed them?

"You can do this." I looked up at Dad's soft, gentle words.

"Dad?"

"Cal, you are one of the bravest, strongest people I have ever known, part of my family or not. With the right support system, you can do anything. You'll be able to learn to be more independent, to do more things on your own, and we'll be here to help you, but your mam and I can't take care of you forever. This will be good for you."

I bit my lip and looked down so he couldn't see my wet eyes. It had been months since my dad had shown any amount of confidence in me, much less something like this. He thought I was capable of living mostly on my own. I wanted to prove him right. I wanted him and the rest of my family to be proud of me. So I said;

"I'll do it. I'll go."

They smiled.

"I'll miss you, Cal," Mam said. "We all will. But this is for the best. You'll see."

* * *

 

The online classes went at the same pace as the on campus ones, and were often taught by the same professors, so I'd be able to come in in the middle of the term and still understand what was going on. We weren't going to wait until the next term started. They were sending me in two weeks.

The days went slowly, but the weeks passed by fast, and suddenly I was leaving in two days but I had barely packed any of my things. I'd be arriving Saturday morning after taking a train overnight. Mam would be going with me to make sure I got to my aunt and uncle's safe and to talk to the headmaster in person, to make sure he understood the situation. She also wanted to meet the school psychologist and make sure he was to her standards in case I needed to find one elsewhere.

I barely slept on the train. The noise and the overhead lights, even dimmed, and the anxiety combined to make it impossible, so Craig and I texted on and off through the night, as he woke and fell back asleep.

_I can't believe you're actually coming! this is so cool!_

_I know! I'm going to be there about noon. My mum and I have some things to talk to the headmaster about, but after that, maybe we can meet up!_

_definitely! how about in front of the dorm building?_

_Sounds good. Let's say 1:00?_

_I'll see you then! for now I'm going to try to get back to sleep, hah_

I didn't text back. He knew I'd be here if he needed me.

* * *

 

My aunt and uncle were waiting for us at the train station when we arrived in the morning. The sun was high and bright but lost behind a grey sky, occasionally peeking out between a gap in the clouds. Every now and then my face was dusted with a light brush of water, and I couldn't tell whether it was misty or if it was sprinkling.

The countryside looked a lot like home, but with fewer trees and more flowers. But it was just as green and rolling as home, but with a greyer sky.

Mam and I sat in the backseat of their car as my uncle got into the driver's seat and my aunt the passenger's. I could hear them talking, but I didn't really process it, too busy watching the scenery go by. At one point we went by a small, arched entrance to a place called Smithen Village. We were getting close.

We slowly rolled up the gravelly road to the gates of the Academy. My uncle let us out at the front so he could go find parking.

The Academy was made up of a group of towering, dusky red-bricked buildings covered with crawling green ivy. The grounds were sprawling, taking up at least a square mile, maybe two, depending on how far back they stretched behind the buildings. The clean, wrought iron gates were open and a thin, sandy brown pathway wound through the freshly cut grass. Other identical paths led from building to building, each with their own covered, bricked walkways.

Mam's hand was warm between my shoulders. "Do you want to come with us to the headmaster's office, hen, or would you rather look around a bit?"

I adjusted the bag slung over my left shoulder and my right hand gripped a little tighter around my suitcase.

What could happen, really?

"I think I want to look around," I said.

"All right," Mam said. "You have your room assignment. I'll have to get your key for you, but if you want to go look at the common rooms, I'm sure you're welcome."

I wasn't expecting Craig to be waiting out front yet, and I wasn't disappointed; the only people out there were two boys a few years older than me, sitting on the edge of a planter and talking. I'd never seen a picture of Craig, but he'd described what he looked like and what he'd be wearing.

The common room was big and square, littered with comfortable chairs and couches with a few tables scattered between. Around one corner was a staircase, around the other was a small kitchenette with a fridge and a microwave. I was done looking around in about five minutes and I went back downstairs.

My hands trembled around my bag strap and my suitcase handle, and I'd have been lying if I said it was the medication. I took a deep breath and went back down the stairs and outside again, starting to make my way to the nurse's office, where I knew my mam would go after seeing the headmaster.

My steps were small as I turned in a circle, and again, looking up and down and through the halls as if the big, gaping space beneath the awning would suddenly point me where to go. I paused, looking down the north hallway, then turned around. I squeaked when I bumped into something solid and stumbled back a step. I looked back up. It was a boy about my age. Sixteen or so.

“Hey,” he laughed. His smile was big and bright and white and a mop of messy brown hair barely obscured his amber eyes. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

I nodded. “Sorry. I was trying to figure out where I was and I guess I lost track of my surroundings.”

He waved my apology away with a flick of his hand behind his shoulder. “It’s fine. Do you need help?”

I looked back down at the paper in my hand, up and around at the huge grounds, full of multiple halls and floors.

“I’m looking for the nurse’s office?” I said unsurely.

“No problem!” he said. He gently nudged my arm and I turned with the pressure. “It’s this way. Are you new here?”

I nodded. My brow furrowed as my eyes swept over his body. Black jeans torn at the knees, a black Placebo band t-shirt. _I always wear black,_ Craig had said. _So you can expect that when we meet!_

“Can I ask you what might be a weird question?” I asked.

He hiked an eyebrow. “You can ask, but I won’t swear I’ll answer.”

A bright smile broke across my face. “Craig?”

A matching smile broke across his. “Cal?”

“Hi!” I squeaked. My hands tightened on my bags again, but this time in excitement. “I… can I hug you? Is that weird?”

“Not at all!” he laughed. He pulled me into a tight hug. His arms were thin but wiry and strong and his shirt was soft.

I wrapped my arms back around him and he squeezed one more time before letting me go. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person!” he grinned.

“Yeah!”

“So, you’re looking for the nurse’s office?”

“Yeah, my mam’s… meeting me there. We have to talk to the nurse about my situation before I can get my stuff settled in.” My face went warm. I was a little embarrassed that I _needed_ my mam to come with me, but Craig’s face didn’t change. If anything, his eyes turned a little sad, and I knew he was thinking of his own mam.

“Well, come on, then,” he said. The sadness flickered out of his eyes and his smile went back to normal. “I’ll show you where it is.”

He turned, heading north down the hallway. I followed.

 

**The End**


End file.
